The Trials
by twinkle.exe
Summary: Since the beginning of time, the Clans have sent off their apprentices on a journey to a sacred place: the Moon Tunnels. If they return, they're accepted by their Clan as a true warrior. For the past year, no cat has ever returned from the tunnels. In the midst of leaf-bare, five young cats are sent off to walk this perilous path... but what will they find waiting for them?
1. Stonepaw

**Chapter One**

The air was tense and excited all at once.

This clash of emotions, along with the similar battle of feelings in his stomach, made Stonepaw's neck fur prickle. The ground seemed to be tilting; he felt a sudden rush of dizziness and plopped onto the frosty earth with a _thud_.

"Urghhhh." The gray tabby grimaced at the shock of cold rushing through his body. He considered scrambling back up to his paws, but he didn't feel like standing, so there. He knew his belly fur was going to get soaked and frozen, the white turning brown at the tips from the soil, but he didn't particularly care. Only parents cared about how presentable you looked at your coming-of-age ceremony.

"Stonepaw, you _mouse-brain_ ," came a proclamation from above him. Stonepaw's eyes had squinched shut, but he cracked one slightly open and saw a blurry golden figure standing in front of him.

"You're a mouse-brain, Dawnpaw," the apprentice mumbled reflexively. Nevertheless, he opened both eyes and raised his neck to face his sister. "Aren't you one bit scared at all?"

"Scared? Of what? The only thing scary would be Brightpetal's reaction when you mosey up the Highrock with an iced-up, muddy stomach."

Stonepaw winced at the thought. "Okay, okay, I'm getting up."

" _Greeeeat_ StarClan!" Dawnpaw went on, disregarding him. She could have mimicked their mother's voice almost perfectly, save for the satirical tone to her voice. "I raised you better than this! You better sit your tail down and get-chor-self a _thor-ough_ grooming, or so help me! Messy apprentices ought not to get their ceremony! You'll be scrambling to get to the Moon Tunnels when I'm through with you!"

Stonepaw involuntarily cringed at the mention of the Moon Tunnels. When Dawnpaw's green eyes narrowed, he hurried to distract her. "Yup, yes, that's absolutely what Brightpetal would say. Got your point. I'll just. Clean up."

Groaning, the tabby lifted himself back to a sitting position and began lapping at his underside. "How long 'til sunhigh?" he asked his sister between licks.

Dawnpaw frowned up at the sky. "It's too cloudy to tell." She lashed her tail.

Stonepaw did not comment on this. He was vaguely aware of other cats' eyes on him, swift as butterflies, disappearing as soon as he turned towards the source of the feeling. It seemed that ThunderClan was incredibly antsy for this particular send-ing off ceremony.

And rightfully so! Theirs was the first one in moons. It had been a slow descent into the apprentice-less state of the Clan; the normal, steady trickle of new kits being born had ever so slowly decreased, until there were none at all. The cats were too scared, too fearful of condemning their children to an inescapable fate.

 _The whole thing,_ Stonepaw thought as he groomed, _started with Mintpaw._

Seasons ago —over a year, for Stonepaw had not been alive then— ThunderClan, and all the Clans, had prospered. They were reaping the plentiful benefits of the northern, underground Moon Tunnels, and more year-old apprentices were sent to journey there almost every Gathering.

It was a long journey, the path to the Moon Tunnels, but it was also a rite of passage. If you made it, you received StarClan's blessing, and returned a true warrior; if not, you were honored as an determined apprentice: incredibly valiant, but also incredibly dead.

The goings-on in the Moon Tunnels were sacred and therefore secret. The warriors didn't speak of it. The only information the apprentices and kits knew was that StarClan spoke to you in there and left you with a gift to benefit your clan. The gift might be tangible, like seeds for a new variety of herb, or stones that sharpened your claws better than any old in-territory rock. It could be something more cryptic, like a warning or prophecy from StarClan themselves. In any case, it was something the receiving Clan direly needed.

But then one day, they had sent off a promising apprentice —Mintpaw— and he had never returned.

Nor did any of the other cats in that group.

The next also failed to come back; and the next, and the next, and the next.

None were ever seen again.

Superstitions brewed. Was StarClan angry at them? New traditions were even made, like giving the apprentices a faux warrior name before sending them off in the hopes that it would give them the much needed strength.

The Clans clung hopelessly to the customs that had served them so easily since the beginning of time. There was pletny of talk, at Gatherings as well as in ThunderClan itself, about not sending apprentices off anymore.

And this was why everyone was so anxious.

Spottedstar had remained mysteriously silent in the midst of the arguing, even when directly asked if she was going to send the Clan's only fresh blood off on a fruitless quest. The golden she-cat merely turned her head away from her warriors, oftentimes lost in thought, face tilted to the sky as if asking her ancestors for guidance.

Stonepaw knew that Dawnpaw absolutely wanted to go. It was easy, he supposed, to think that you could succeed where others had failed, because they were just _others_ and _you_ were _you._

Plus, the golden tabby had more reason than the average apprentice to think that she could make it. A wildfire blazed inside of her, an inferno of ambition and talent combined: a dangerous, very potent combination. Dawnpaw excelled in all her assessments, caught more prey than some warriors would on a good day, and had claws as sharp as her tongue.

If his sister was fire, Stonepaw was water: slow-moving, calm and cool. Possibly not cool. He was clumsy, he was awkward; he splashed in all the worst spots and he was the sluggish kind of water in a stagnant puddle. Worries sunk into his depths like grime, and dissolved, never to be removed.

Well, anyway, if they were going to the Moon Tunnels, he would have her with him. If they weren't, they could continue on peacefully with Clan life.

And if he was being honest: scared as he was of the mysterious cause of the other warriors' disappearances, Stonepaw felt a tremor of excitement in his belly every time he thought of leaving ThunderClan to go on an adventure. He quietly daydreamed of scenarios where his group returned back and solved the mystery and were honored by the Clans as heroes; where he was in the tunnels and he was _super-blessed_ by StarClan for being the most worthy apprentice of them all; where he brought back a new treasure that the Clans had never seen before that solved all of ThunderClan's problems forever.

Scenarios where he was special, and great, and the best.

Which would never happen.

The ache that came with these dreams never really went away, but Stonepaw pushed them to the back of his mind for now.

"Nervous?"

Thrushfeather's voice made Stonepaw jump. He twisted his head and saw his father watching him, whiskers twitching, gray head cocked slightly to the side.

 _Am I? I mean, yes, I am, but if I say yes that gives the wrong idea, because I_ am _nervous but also looking forward to it. It's like half negative feelings and half positive ones and I'm getting a headache from it._ Stonepaw pondered over the proper reply before realizing too long of a pause had passed since the question, so he answered with a quick, slightly-too-vigorous nod. He hoped that Thrushfeather would say something like, "And excited, too, I bet," so he could respond with another affirmative and clear things up. However, all the older tabby said was:

"It'll be fine. Don't worry."

Stonepaw studied his father closely. Thrushfeather was a mirror image of his son, but more muscled, moving with the kind of respectable grace that Stonepaw longed to have. The only difference between them in color were the gray speckles on the warrior's chest. And his green eyes revealed nothing, serenely reflecting Stonepaw's own.

 _Do you think we'll survive the journey to the Moon Tunnels? Will Spottedstar even let us go?_ As the mentor of his children and the deputy of ThunderClan, Thrushfeather should know the answer to both of these questions. But Stonepaw did not ask; he was too scared of the answer.

Ever since the cats never came back from their journey to the Moon Tunnels, mentoring apprentices had become a group effort of all the Clan. An apprentice's parents would deal with most of their training, but everyone would pitch in, in the hopes that a varied skill set would prepare them for whatever obstacles they would face.

Which meant Thrushfeather knew him better than any cat... which also meant Stonepaw wouldn't be able to bear it if his answer was "no".

 _No, you can't survive the journey. Dawnpaw, maybe, but not you. You're a weakling, you lose half the prey you try to catch and all the battles you try to fight. Not a chance._

"It's almost sunhigh," said Thrushfeather, tilting his head towards the cloudy leaf-bare sky. "Get ready to be a warrior." He moved closer to his son and touched his muzzle to Stonepaw's forehead. "I'm proud of you."

Stonepaw watched as his father padded away, feeling a strange emotion blooming in his chest.

It wasn't until Thrushfeather had slipped out of camp, out of sight, that he realized he hadn't spoken a single word.

...

"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!"

Spottedstar's yowl rang through ThunderClan's camp. Warriors and elders poked their heads out of their dens and got up from their spots in the clearing to gather below the Highrock, on which their leader was perched regally.

"Not that there's any cat too young to catch their own prey," Stonepaw heard a warrior mutter as he made his way to the front of the group, flanked by Dawnpaw.

"Today," the dappled ginger leader called, "ThunderClan's two apprentices have reached their coming of age. Stonepaw, Dawnpaw, come up here."

Stonepaw's paws were clammy as he clambered up the Highrock, now following Dawnpaw, who was faster than him in climbing up the rock. _StarClan, don't let me slip and fall._ He unsheathed his claws to get a better grip and made it to the top to stand by Spottedstar and Dawnpaw.

"I, Spottedstar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on these two apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend them to you come-of-age apprentices in their turn. Stonepaw, Dawnpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?"

"I do," Dawnpaw breathed.

Stonepaw choked out his own "I do."

"Then, by the powers of StarClan, I give you your first full names, in the hopes that they will serve you well for when you need them." Spottedstar turned her piercing orange gaze to Dawnpaw first.

"Dawnpaw, until StarClan's blessing is given, you will be known as Dawnheart. We honor your skill and spirit, and ThunderClan welcomes you to our ranks."

 _Dawnheart!_ Stonepaw fizzed with pride for his sister as Spottedstar rested her muzzle on her head, and Dawnheart licked her shoulder.

"Stonepaw." Spottedstar's eyes were on him now. "Until StarClan's blessing is given, you will be known as Stonefall."

 _Stonefall. My name, for now, is Stonefall. What virtues of mine will be honored?_ he wondered briefly, in the split second pause it took before Spottedstar went on.

"We honor your intelligence and determination, and ThunderClan welcomes you to our ranks."

The camp was filled with cries of "Dawnheart! Stonefall! Dawnheart! Stonefall!" Stonefall shifted his paws, wondering when he was supposed to leave. He didn't remember what happened after this. Spottedstar held up her tail, signaling for the newly named almost-wariors to stay still until the cheers died down and the confused Clan quieted.

"Traditionally," Spottedstar began, and this one word sent murmurs rippling through the cats, "we send off our apprentices once they have come of age, and they return with a name given by StarClan. Recently, as you all know, they have been sent off with placeholder name, to give them the strength and courage of a warrior, if not the title. You all accepted this development peacefully, if a little grudgingly, and I hope that I will see the same today."

Frantic whispers made their way through the crowd of cats. Stonefall couldn't hear anything from where he was, but the warriors seemed ruffled by their leader's words.

 _She's not going to let us go,_ he thought. _We'll be the first warriors to never go to the Moon Tunnels._ He didn't know how he felt. Relieved? ...Disappointed?

"Given the circumstances," meowed Spottedstar slowly, tentatively, as if she was stepping on ice and wasn't sure how thin it was, "I have come to the decision that only one of our apprentices will go to the Moon Tunnels."

Cries came from the cats below.

"This is unprecedented!"

"We were not listened to in this discussion!"

Most voices were outraged, a few approving, some dismayed that one apprentice would be sent to their almost certain death.

 _We all know it's going to be Dawnheart._

Stonefall still didn't know how he felt. Something had shifted. Was that a glimmer of hope he saw, dangling in his mind? _What if it's me?_

 _No, it's definitely Dawnheart._

"Everyone, listen to me." Spottedstar shifted her head to look at all of her Clanmates, imploring them to see reason. Stonefall could see the struggle in the rippling of her fur. "If we go on as we always have, ThunderClan will die out— _all_ the Clans will."

The protests were dying down; they were giving their leader a chance to explain herself.

"We have all taught these young cats everything they know today. We know that they are capable and as honorable as any warrior. Can that not be enough, at least for now, when all the apprentices we send away never return? I have thought for moons over this decision. Trust me when I say that it was not made lightly, and not made without listening to the thoughts of all of the Clan.

"I value your beliefs, your opinions, and the customs we have upheld for so long. Time brings change the way the winds bring leaf-fall, but the spirit of ThunderClan remains. Am I not right?"

Silence from below as the cats took in Spottedstar's words. Then, Thrushfeather, sitting by the base of the Highrock with Brightpetal, raised his head and yowled:

"Is she not right? ThunderClan's spirit is but determined by its cats!"

Slowly, then all at once, the warriors called out.

"Spottedstar is right!"

"ThunderClan is _proud_ to have these _warriors!_ "

"We have to adapt!

"Accept change!"

Stonefall saw Spottedstar relax, and he let out the breath that he had been holding. Next to him, Dawnheart was getting twitchy.

 _I wish I could have a fraction of that effect on cats._ He wondered who he envied more: Spottedstar, who had found all the right words to soothe her Clanmates, or Thrushfeather, who had led them in the cries of support?

"Thank you, ThunderClan." The golden she-cat dipped her head. "Now, it is time to name the _warrior_ who will be leaving."

Dawnheart was trembling. Stonefall realized that he was, too. The littermates pressed against each other, offering mutual support as Spottedstar opened her jaws. _Do I want her to go to her death? Do I want to go to mine? Do I want a chance at becoming a hero, or do I want to leave that to her?_ He was confused, confused, confused, and when Spottedstar spoke, it only added to his confusion, because there must have been a mistake.

"Stonefall will travel to the Moon Tunnels."

 _ME. STONEFALL._

I'm _going to the Moon Tunnels._

Surprised noises billowed through the cats. Stonefall couldn't blame them, although it still stung a little. Stunned, he looked at Dawnheart, who was in turn looking at Spottedstar with unconcealed outrage.

"You can't let Stonefall go on his own!" she cried. "Spottedstar, why? Why not me? I _want_ to go to the Moon Tunnels, I'm stronger than Stonefall; if only one of us, let it be me, or else let the both of us go?" She made to continue, but Spottedstar cut her off.

"Dawnheart, are you angry because Stonefall was chosen over you, or because you don't think he can make it?" she challenged calmly.

Dawnheart glared at her leader without responding. Finally, through clenched teeth, she muttered, "I'm angry because I'm being denied my rite of passage."

"Ah. You feel you would be dishonored if you were a warrior without surviving the journey to the Moon Tunnels. Did you hear what I said earlier...?"

"Yes," said Dawnheart, "but I didn't understand it."

"Understanding comes with age."

Stonefall felt a jolt in his belly as Spottedstar turned to him. "Stonefall, do you want Dawnheart to go in your place?"

He felt like he was drowning, crushed under the weight of the decision.

 _If I said yes, I might be killing her, and squandering this opportunity. If I said no, she'd be angry at me, but isn't that a small price to pay, for my sister's life... and my one chance at being the hero?_ He was so, so, tempted.

"No," Stonefall meowed, willing his voice not to shake.

He flinched at the hurt and anger that radiated off of Dawnheart's bristling golden pelt. _Why was I chosen?_ he wondered. _Am I better than Dawnheart?_ He pushed that unlikely thought away as his brain went into overdrive.

 _Dawnheart is definitely more skilled than I am, and what ThunderClan needs the most right now is skilled warriors; all of our cats are growing old, and there's no next generation to take their place. Better to send off the hopeless brother on a hopeless journey and keep the prodigious sister safe and sound, instead of giving the latter a small chance at success and most likely losing her, then being left with just the useless former._

 _Come to think of it, why send one and keep the other?_

 _Of all the debates I heard, it was between "keep sending apprentices" or "don't send apprentices," not "send one and keep the other."_

 _Maybe they want to get rid of me maybe I'm even worse than I thought I was maybe this was all just planned to get me out of everybody's way maybe—_

Stonefall's increasingly paranoid string of thoughts was interrupted by Spottedstar's reply.

"Of course you don't... I knew I was right in trusting Thrushfeather's choice." The leader went on about how the Gathering was in two days and to get plenty of rest so he was well prepared for the long journey, but Stonefall didn't register any of it. His eyes flew to Dawnheart's, who was shocked into meeting his gaze.

Green eyes tore away from green eyes and both siblings stared down at the gray tom, who was looking at the ground, not meeting either of his children's gaze.

 _Thrushfeather's choice?_

 _Does my father want me gone?_


	2. Flamepaw

**Chapter Two**

"Walk with me, Flamepaw. We have much to discuss."

Flamepaw trotted hurriedly after her mentor as he disappeared into ShadowClan's chilly pine forest. _I think I've got all the talks about nobility and strength and cleverness and upholding ShadowClan's reputation and stuff,_ she thought mildly. _What much more is there to discuss?_

Well, Darkstar wouldn't keep her waiting. She matched the black tom's pace and padded beside him, taking two steps for every one stride he took.

"The Gathering is in two days," he began.

"Uh-huh."

"You're a moon away from twelve, which means under any usual situation, you would have to wait to the next one."

With those couple of sentences, Flamepaw was pretty sure she already knew where this was going. Such was the magic of Darkstar's concise language. The blue-gray apprentice pricked her ears eagerly.

"However," her mentor continued matter-of-factly, "the other Clans don't have any younger apprentices who would go with you. The journey to the Moon Tunnels is that for a team of cats, and regardless of how well I've taught you, a single cat could not make it alone."

Flamepaw cracked a feline grin. "I'm listening. And?"

"And I cannot ask them to wait an extra moon for you; RiverClan has already had to wait. Their of-age apprentices are thirteen moons now. Which means..." Darkstar inclined his head, allowing Flamepaw to complete the sentence.

"I get to go a moon early!" she cried gleefully.

"It may be controversial— to the other Clans, as ShadowClan is well aware of your capabilities. I'll personally make sure that you will be on the path to the Moon Tunnels two nights from now."

"Oh, thank you!" Flamepaw said fervently, feeling a gratitude that couldn't be expressed in words. Four whole seasons was a long time to wait; a moon less was wonderful. She was almost bouncing on her paws as they walked on a path that snaked through the pine trees.

It wasn't that she was some weirdo who was excited for glory or potential death. Flamepaw simply had an intense desire for adventure. It flowed through her veins and circulated through her whole body, pumped constantly by her arteries; it drove her every pawstep and it was what made her try harder, get stronger, run faster. She _needed_ to breathe air beyong the sharp swamp-scents of home, she needed it so badly; it was a primal kind of hunger, a wild thirst, that she had in her belly.

She needed to run through open moors and still be a ShadowClan cat.

She needed to stalk squirrels in dense oak forests and still be a ShadowClan cat.

She needed to explore the grit and harshness of Twolegplace, the mouse-abundant farms, the coldest and tallest mountains, the hottest and driest deserts, all the places she'd only heard of in elder's tales and seen in her dreams.

Great StarClan, she was even (secretly) interested by the prospect of swimming and catching fish.

And how else could she do that but go to the Moon Tunnels?

Flamepaw didn't have a choice, really. As soon as she was born, a single kit, her destiny had been mapped out: mentored by Darkstar, the greatest of all ShadowClan; trained every day until her pads bled and her claws broke; made into the perfect cat who could best any challenge and defeat any creepy monsters that made apprentices disappear on the way to the tunnels.

But if she _wanted_ it, then wasn't it _technically_ her choice? This line of reasoning made her content, and that was enough.

She loved ShadowClan, she really did. She loved hearing the crickets chirp and seeing the fireflies glitter at night; she loved the cool of the mud on her paws after a long day of training; she loved the gentle rain dripping off of pine needles and the way the sun looked through the pine trees as it rose and the sharp scent of sap on the trees.

But their territory was only a little corner of the earth...

Flamepaw knew the world was too huge for her to see everything in one lifetime, but she intended to get as close as she could.

"Did anyone ever tell you why you were named Flamekit?" Darkstar asked suddenly as he leaped over a sneaky bramble hiding in the mud.

"Certainly not for my pelt," the apprentice retorted with a laugh. "Unlike you." Darkstar was clearly and simply named by his fur color: he was a pure black cat. Flamepaw, however, was blue-gray all over; even her eyes, pale green, bore no resemblance to fire.

Darkstar fluffed out his fur. "You were named because you were a flame of hope, in the midst of ShadowClan," he informed her. Yes, Flamepaw did recall a distant memory of someone saying something along those lines, but it had never really mattered to her.

"Small, but bright. Now it's time for you to become a wildfire," said the leader. "Blaze your way through the path to the Moon Tunnels. Restore ShadowClan's courage and belief in the tunnels, so that the Clan can have more kits, and a much-needed new generation to continue their legacy."

"Sounds like a plan," Flamepaw meowed cheerfully. She paused, then asked, "Am I going to get my name?"

"I've been thinking about it," Darkstar told her. "On one paw, I certainly want you to have your first name to carry you through the journey, and you deserve it. On the other paw, the other Clans might be even less welcoming if you have your name prematurely. I might leave it up to them in order to win their favor, and we'll hold a little impromptu ceremony before you leave if they're okay with it."

Flamepaw didn't like the idea of being bossed around by the other Clans like that. Where was the honor in it? But what her mentor was saying made sense, so she made a noise of agreement.

They walked along in silence, but Darkstar didn't turn back. There was more to be said, it seemed. Flamepaw focused idly on the cold mud under her paws and the sharp bite of leaf-bare until he spoke again.

"These five moons, we've been training so hard to get you ready for the journey. I don't think I've said this enough," the black tom told her. "I'm very proud of you."

"Oh," Flamepaw mewed, suddenly feeling shy. She looked at her paws. "Er... thank you."

"So are your parents, I'm sure," he said, and the mention of them awakened a dull pain in Flamepaw's heart. She pushed it away with a small sigh.

"They watch me from StarClan."

"Yes. And your Clan is proud of you, too. Everyone cares about you, Flamepaw."

"I know." ShadowClan was nothing but kind to her.

"Don't let yourself be overwhelmed by the great burden we are placing on you. If I could send any other cat, someone older, someone who's made the journey, I would. But the path to the Moon Tunnels is only walked twice: once to arrive, and the other to leave."

Flamepaw nodded to show that she understood. She didn't want anyone to go in her place, anyway.

"We will all miss you." Darkstar ended his speech, then said with a more carefree tone, "But the parting of ways is in two days. Given that, we have two days to train. Race me to the training set!"

He dashed off with a burst of speed and Flamepaw sprinted after him, cool mud splashing over her paws in her pursuit.

The training set was one of the most useful gifts that ShadowClan had received from the Moon Tunnels. Many ShadowClan apprentices had gone on that journey, and each brought back a piece to be assembled in their old clearing. It was essentially a giant obstacle course, designed to test agility, tree-climbing abilities, speed, and nimbleness.

There was also a patch of sturdy, tall grasses that served as a sparring dummy. It was the stick, sharp kind of grass that could get you stuck in it, and was too tough to be an easy "opponent". It got shredded every so often, but always grew back. The grass was incredibly useful for Flamepaw in particular, as she had no one her age to train with.

 _I wonder what I'll bring back from the tunnels!_

The thought gave her a burst of excitement, and she sped up, nearly overtaking Darkstar before he pulled ahead and swerved into the clearing. Flamepaw skidded to a halt.

"Go and have a run through the course to warm up," Darkstar offered. "If you do well, I'll fight you after."

Flamepaw's claws tingled at the thought of a chance to beat her mentor. She shot towards the pine tree that served as a starting point, gripping the rough bark and pulling herself onto the first branch.

"Ready? Go!"

The blue-gray she-cat eyed the next tree. Thick vines swung around it, leaving almost no place to land; she noticed a small gap in the swath of growth and narrowed her eyes, quickly calculating the power she'd need to land there and launched herself towards it.

Through the gap she flew, wind whistling past her fur, and she barely paused before leaping down onto the base of the small boulder below.

Up the slippery stone she clawed, digging hard into pawholds left behind by other cats from long ago. When she reached the top, she didn't hesitate before moving on.

She leapt to knock down a pinecone hanging in the next tree. _That was great. Most quickly I've got a pinecone; prey won't stand a chance!_ she was able to think, before landing with all four paws on the ground. Then she ran, straight ahead into the tangle of brambles and vines that waited to meet her.

She knew the training set as if she'd been born and raised in it. The foilage grew and this part was different every time, but she knew when to duck, when to jump, when to flatten her fur so she could squeeze through a tight spot.

Flamepaw's heart pounded in her ears as she nearly caught her paw on the last bramble and slid a little unceremoniously to the end point, where Darkstar was waiting for her, his whiskers twitching.

"Got any thorns?" he asked, and smiled approvingly when she shook her head. "Tomorrow will be a windy day; we'll see if you can get _two_ pinecones while they're moving, a little more like real prey. For now, let's not waste your adrenaline. Attack me."

She did not need further invitation.

The blue-gray she-cat lunged at her mentor, sheathing her claws, and aimed to land on his shoulders, but he knew her fighting style well and was ready for it. Darkstar had dropped to a crouch and when she hit her target, he sprung up, hurling her off of him.

Flamepaw was back up as soon as she hit the ground, a little winded. She didn't have time to catch her breath. Darkstar engaged her in close combat within heartbeats, pummeling her with his paws.

The smaller apprentice dipped under him and emerged on the other side, shoving Darkstar with the strength of her whole body to make him lose his balance.

They went on like this, tussling with only a few pauses throughout the day to drink water and catch their breath. The cold leaf-bare morning turned to a slightly warmer sunhigh; the temprature dropped again as the sun began to sink, until the sky was all pinks and purples and Flamepaw's muscles ached pleasantly.

Darkstar rarely had a whole day to give her; he was leader, after all, and he had responsibilities. The apprentice was delighted as they padded back to camp.

"You have good stamina," he told her.

"Only because of your training."

"Either way, it will be invaluable throughout your journey. You should hope that the other Clans' apprentices will be able to keep up with you."

His words, somehow, made a realization slowly sink in. Flamepaw was actually going to the Moon Tunnels. She was going to leave ShadowClan and travel north, to where no cat had come back for a very long time. Everything was going to change.

 _This is it._

 _There's only tomorrow, and then... the Gathering._

 _After that, I'll be leaving._

The blue-gray apprentice raised her muzzle to the sky. Cool ShadowClan air brushed her nose and whiskers. It was comforting, but also a reminder: there were other sorts of air to feel, other territories to walk, other sights to see. She was ready for it; she'd been born ready.

 _Adventure, here I come!_


	3. Grassfur

**Chapter Three**

Grassfur was growing impatient.

How was it fair that he had to wait an extra moon before going to the Moon Tunnels?

"Perfectly fair," Cloudtuft had informed him one day, when the russet tom's complaints had been louder than usual. "You can't expect the other Clans to have kits at a certain time just because you were born at that time."

"Right, but I don't want you to logic me, I want to _grumble_ about it," Grassfur had snapped at his brother.

"Why are you in such a hurry for us to run to our deaths anyway?" Cloudtuft's blue eyes did not say how _he_ felt about "running to his death." The white cat was strange in that way; he didn't seem to be excited about going to the Moon Tunnels, but he showed no hatred about it either. He was passive, never talked about it, and acted like the biggest problem in life was menial stuff like getting the biggest fish to eat.

"I'm _not_ ," Grassfur had protested.

"Then what— _oh._ " His eyes had rounded, then, and his voice softened. "It's because of Sweetleaf, isn't it?"

He had turned away from his brother then, padded away and ignored him as the empty, gnawing hole in his heart threatened to swallow him whole.

How long ago had it been? Less than a season, and yet it felt like years. Moons blended together like blood and river-water. Grassfur hadn't really kept track of time, not since then. Had Cloudtuft caught a giant salmon just yesterday, or back in leaf-fall when they were apprentices? Had Nettlestar died then, or later on, when Perchstar was a little more ready to take his place? Grassfur didn't know.

He smoothed his red pelt —as well as he could, seeing as he'd been named for the way it prickled like grass— as it began to bristle with the pain of the memories.

Less than a season ago, RiverClan had four apprentices come of age, and two just a couple of moons away from it. The other Clans barely had any; ShadowClan had none, ThunderClan none, WindClan two. Still, six cats were considered enough to make the journey, and the four RiverClan cats had left, along with the two WindClanners.

And, of course, they had never come back.

 _She promised,_ Grassfur thought, absentmindedly shredding a reed to pieces with his claws. _She promised she'd be there to see me off for_ my _journey._

Sweetleaf.

She haunted his dreams, sometimes in memories where they were laughing together, red-and-tortoiseshell pelts so close together, sometimes in nightmares where she cried and he was frozen and he was helpless to save her.

Her scent followed him and muddled up his nose; her voice sounded in his ears and he couldn't chase it away.

She couldn't have died out there with the three littermates.

He refused to believe it.

She was strong, she was smart, she could survive anything. Maybe she was lost, or alone, or trapped somewhere, but she simply couldn't be dead. She wouldn't let herself die. She wouldn't _do that_ to _him_.

So Grassfur simply trained harder than ever, waiting for the day when he reached twelve moons and received his name, so he could go and rescue her and bring her back. And then everything would be okay, he told himself every day. There was no such thing as failure; he couldn't afford failure.

But none of the other Clans had had warriors, only apprentices, so Grassfur and Cloudtuft had to wait.

The moon of waiting was agony. He didn't know how he'd made it through the fourteen days as the moon waned like his spirit, and how he'd carried on the next twelve days as it started to brighten again.

Two days left now.

 _Two days, Sweetleaf, just hang on until then. I'll be coming for you._

He knew she would do the same for him. He owed this to her, because she had given him so much. She understood him even when he snapped at her, she knew him down to the bones in his body, she knew that he was an irritable cat and that was just the way he was. Sweetleaf accepted him and didn't try to make him change. In a sea of "Grasspaw-you-need-to-fix-your-attitude"s, she was his island.

"Still moping, Grassfur? I'd think that you'd be more excited as the full moon draws closer." A voice sounded behind him. Grassfur whipped around, his fur even more spiked than usual.

Willowstream, RiverClan's medicine cat, was watching him with an unreadable expression.

"What do you want?" The words came out sharper than he had intended, but Grassfur felt no regret. He was getting to the point, and besides, she deserved it for sneaking up on him like that.

"I was going to ask you if you wanted poppy seeds. Sleeping makes time pass faster."

"Would you really waste herbs for that?" Grassfur narrowed his golden eyes. Was this a trick of some sort?

"I'm a medicine cat—"

"Wow, who knew? You must think I have bees in my brain to have to tell me that."

"—and the comfort of my Clanmates is one of my priorities," the brown she-cat finished, ignoring his comment.

Grassfur shrugged, his fur rippling. "I'll take them if you're giving them." He wouldn't mind sleeping for two days.

Willowstream flicked her tail, beckoning him to follow her to her den. He obliged and waited outside as the medicine cat ducked inside and shuffled around. She emerged with a dried poppy head between her teeth.

"Shake out the seeds and lick them. A dose of this amount shouldn't hurt, and it'll last you through the rest today."

The russet tom eyed the orange flower as it was dropped in front of his paws with a hollow rattle, still slightly suspicious. He'd never heard of poppy seeds being used to let a cat sleep for a whole day. As if she could read his mind, Willowstream chuckled, which didn't help.

"Perchstar doesn't want you tearing up the whole camp for the next two days. Eat them."

"If you say so." He and Cloudtuft were being kept in the RiverClan camp like precious pieces of prey, from fear of them running into a fox or dog alone and dying prematurely. Perchstar upheld the tradition of Moon Tunnels strictly, and to her, RiverClan losing their apprentices before they were sent off would be a great shame. Grassfur shook the poppy head as he'd been instructed, checked to make sure all the little black seeds were out, and lapped them up, feeling grit on his tongue along with the tasteless black specks.

He left and stalked to the apprentices' den without a "thank you," intending to stay there until it was time for the Gathering.

...

 _He dreamed that he was falling..._

It was a senseless kind of dream, the type where you woke up and thought, _oh, that was a dream_ , but while you were experiencing it, it felt so terribly real.

Grassfur's heart was in his throat as he fell into an endless chasm. He heard voices, voices, a voice that sounded like his but not, a voice that sounded like hers but not.

 _"After we've both been to the Moon Tunnels, what do you think will happen next?"_

 _"You're so optimistic, Sweetpaw. No one's come back from the Moon Tunnels for a long time."_

 _"You're so pessimistic. Don't you think I could make it?"_

 _"Of course..."_

 _"And if I can, then so can you,"_ she declared firmly, with so much conviction that he could believe it.

The voices faded, he was still falling, he was going to fall forever into this abyss of words and memories...

 _"Why do you always hang out with that kit, Sweetpaw?"_

 _"Grasspaw's not a kit, he's an apprentice, same as you."_

 _"Yeah, but he sure acts like a kit. He's a little brat, padding after my sister. He doesn't deserve you."_

Grassfur recalled that he'd wanted to box Heronpaw's ears off after the last comment. But he'd kept his claws sheathed, because Heronpaw was her brother...

 _"I can't stop thinking about you and I don't know why."_

 _"Neither can I,"_ she breathed, and her scent enveloped him.

What kind of hell was this?

 _"When we're all warriors, we'll be expected to have kits, won't we?"_

 _"I guess."_

 _"What do you think of kits?"_

 _"...what?"_ He'd been incredibly alarmed at the odd, dreamy look in her eyes. He turned the memory over in his head and still did not understand it.

 _"I'll miss you."_

 _"I'll miss you too. But I'll be back. I'll be there for your coming-of-age ceremony."_

 _"Promise?"_

 _"Promise."_ The last word she'd spoken to him was a lie.

He kept on falling, kept on hearing all the memories of his first ten moons of life. Of him and Sweetleaf; what they were, and then what they could have been, what they never would be because she was _gone, gone, gone_. And finally, after what felt like millions of years but might only have been moments, Grassfur landed.

There was only darkness and shadows, above him, below him, around every side of him.

Then the dream spun away and faded into another, another with colors and light, leaving him dizzy and winded from the sudden change. He felt itchy grass rubbing against his pelt and got to his paws, scratching with a hind leg at his flank.

"What is this?" he wondered out loud. "WindClan's moors?" He had patrolled the borders often enough, and didn't recognize this place, but where else could it be? Somehow, at the same time, it seemed like he had been here before, which was a ridiculous thought.

 _It feels like I've been here in a past life..._

The other dream had faded from his mind quite completely, if it had even been there at all. He felt a strange mix of fear and pain, and a little dash of vertigo, but didn't know why. Seeing movement, Grassfur turned his head.

A mottled fawn-colored she-cat was running. He was far away from her, but she was coming towards him, and there was fear plain as day in the movement of her body, the bush of her tail, the fur standing along her spine. As she drew closer, he could see it sparking in her amber eyes— it was an intense kind of fear, the fear that came when death lurked nearby. He looked beyond her and found the source of it.

A coyote was pursuing her, its cruel eyes gleaming in excitement for its next meal. Grassfur tried to turn away, but he couldn't ignore the terror in the other cat's face. He watched, transfixed and unmoving, unable to move his paws and help even if he tried. _Why am I here? Why am I watching this?_

The sun was beating down on the moor, illuminating both predator and prey's fur. The grass rustled as they ran; the rest of the world was still and silent, as if all the soil and trees and sky were holding their collective breath as they also observed the chase.

 _If she's from a Clan, she's a WindClan cat, that's for sure,_ he thought as he watched her barrel towards him at a speed that he knew he could not match.

The coyote, however, was faster.

It took a great leap and pounced, and the she-cat fell, disappearing into the grass that her fawn-and-ginger fur matched so well. She shrieked in pain, the sound unbridled and loud, hurting Grassfur's ears. His heart pounded, and he tried to move closer, to no avail.

The coyote barked, a sickeningly victorious sound, as it looked at the cat pinned under its claws. Then it dipped its head and Grassfur heard the _crunch_ of bone. He opened his jaws in a soundless noise of horror. _No._

He felt as if _he_ were the one crushed by those powerful jaws. He couldn't breathe. He wanted to scream. Why was it hurting so much, seeing the death of this nameless stranger? He didn't know her. She could very well be a rogue, a loner, a figment of his imagination.

 _This has got to be a dream._

With that thought, Grassfur awakened with a jolt.

It was morning... the birds were singing, and the warriors were beginning to stir. There were tears in his eyes, he noticed as his drowsiness faded, and his heart was pounding faster than a WindClan cat could run. At the thought of WindClan, the tears began to flow, trickling down his cheeks. Grassfur wiped his face with a paw and stared, frozen, and the dark, blood-colored spot of liquid on his otherwise red paw.

He was crying.

He didn't know why.


	4. Maplepool

**Chapter Four**

Two cats were walking together in WindClan's camp.

One was big and burly, the striped brown of oak tree trunks and soil, and his amber eyes were worried. The other was fawn-and-ginger, mottled, the earthy colors of the moorland in which they lived. From a distance, they looked like they could be siblings; up close, if one looked at their identical eyes, they simply had to be.

"Why do you think Hawkstar sent for us?" Maplepool asked her brother.

"Who knows?" Bearclaw answered with a shrug that made his fur ripple. "Maybe he changed his mind about sending us to the Moon Tunnels. He's been a little... moody, lately."

"Can't blame him," meowed the she-cat, a little defensively.

Bearclaw looked at her questioningly. "I wasn't," he pointed out. "Looks like he's not the only moody one, either."

Maplepool was apologizing as they reached Hawkstar's den. Her brother called out their leader's name, approaching no further than the edge of the den behind the Tallrock.

WindClan cats were the closest to the sky, and their ancestors; they lived closest to the north, where the Moon Tunnels were, and slept in the open under the starswept heavens. No cat in their right mind would hide under tree roots or bushes and caves... but Hawkstar was old and liked his privacy, so he had chosen to use the den that all leaders had but none ever slept in.

"Bearclaw?" came a creaky meow from the den. There was shuffling, and Bearclaw stepped back as Hawkstar emerged.

The dark brown tabby tom had once been a regal, respected leader. In his Clan's eyes, he was still both, but there was no denying the age in his slow gait and the silvered fur on his once pure brown muzzle. Maplepool saw the way the other Clans looked at him during Gatherings, though. Some cats thought WindClan weak for its leader.

But who was there to take his place? Their Clan was filled to the brim with senior warriors and elders. There had been no new warriors in over a year. Their deputy, Finchmask, was almost as old as Hawkstar himself, and he should have been an elder by now.

"Ah, you two have finally made it."

"We were on a hunting patrol," Maplepool explained quickly.

Hawkstar twitched a gray-tipped ear. "I would expect no less."

Maplepool's pelt burned. She cast a rabbit-swift glance at her brother, who seemed to be repressing a smile.

"I have decided," Hawkstar said briefly, getting to the point, "that only one of you will go to the Moon Tunnels this time."

The ginger she-cat blinked, surprised.

"I thought you might say that." Bearclaw looked much less shocked than his sister. "I'll go," he went on calmly. "Leave Maplepool here."

Maplepool bristled as she looked at her brother. "Nonsense!"

She and Bearclaw had always been close littermates. They were rarely apart and didn't butt heads as much as average siblings did— or, at least, what everyone _told_ them average siblings did. They had no other peers, only adults and elders, and that probably accounted for their close bond. This sort of self-sacrificial wish-wash was exactly what she should have expected from him. _You hate the very idea of the Moon Tunnels,_ she thought pleadingly, but didn't dare say it aloud. It was an unpopular opinion in WindClan.

"It's ridiculous. They keep sending us to the tunnels when we never come back," Bearclaw had told her on more than one occasion. "Everyone needs to stop living in the past and start seeing the present."

"I'm stronger," he pointed out now to Hawkstar, who studied him mildly. "More likely to survive."

"Ah, yes," said Hawkstar. "More likely to survive the Moon Tunnels, but _definitely_ a great asset to WindClan."

 _Am_ I _not?_ Both toms turned to look at Maplepool, and she realized she'd spoken out loud.

"You would be, in your own way. You are smart where Bearclaw is strong. The trip to the Moon Tunnels is made easier with the former, and WindClan needs most the latter right now."

Maplepool pricked her ears excitedly; no one ever spoke of what happened during the journey. However, Hawkstar fell silent.

"Hawkstar," Bearclaw pleaded, "if I must be separated from my sister, let me have comfort in the knowledge that she is safe and sound here in WindClan."

The old leader's voice was incredibly gentle. "It's a risk all of us have taken. We cannot keep our loved ones safe forever."

Something stirred in the depths of Maplepool's memory. It had happened before she was born, and seemed insignificant at the time, but she remembered an elder's words from her kithood...

 _Hawkstar had a daughter. Hazelpaw._

 _He sent her to the Moon Tunnels, and she was the first in WindClan to never return._

 _Is this why he's only letting one of us go? To keep at least one of us alive?_ It looked like he had chosen Bearclaw, and Maplepool was quite all right with that.

"But I can keep Maplepool safe for just that much longer." Bearclaw seemed to be begging now.

"No," Hawkstar said sternly, sounding like a decisive leader at long last. "Maplepool— you will go to the Moon Tunnels. I believe in you, and I may be old, but my judgement is not yet muddled."

From the dark look in her brother's eyes, she thought Bearclaw thought otherwise. She laid her tail on his shoulders and he didn't shake it off.

"And Bearclaw," continued the dark tabby.

Torn between respect for his leader and disagreement with his decision, Bearclaw appeared to be undergoing a brief but intense internal struggle before dipping his head. "Yes?"

"You will be the next deputy of WindClan."

The silence was so great Maplepool swore she could have heard a feather flutter to the ground. She looked at Bearclaw. Bearclaw looked at her. As if by some silent agreement, they both slowly turned to look at Hawkstar, who seemed slightly amused.

"Me— deputy—" Bearclaw managed to choke out.

"You'll be a wonderful deputy," Maplepool whispered in his ear.

"But Finchmask," Bearclaw protested helplessly.

"Finchmask is well aware that WindClan needs youth and strength more than anything, and has requested to retire to the elders in any case. He can only do that, however, if you choose to accept your position." Hawkstar stared at Bearclaw.

"I—" the brown tom hesitated, breaking eye contact with his leader and looking instead at his sister. She met his gaze evenly, unspeaking. _Think of the whole Clan, Bearclaw, not just me. I can handle myself, and WindClan needs you. You couldn't change Hawkstar's mind anyway._

 _And he said he believes in me..._ her pelt tingled. _I actually have a chance!_

"I do," Bearclaw said. "I accept."

"We have a ceremony to perform, then, don't we?"

...

"Bearclaw! Bearclaw!"

Maplepool yowled her brother's name to the frosty leaf-bare sky, feeling as if she might burst with pride. Her cheers mingled with those of her Clanmates.

They had reacted surprisingly well to Hawkstar's decision, given how deeply the tradition of the Moon Tunnels ran in their blood. It seemed that all of WindClan knew how vulnerable they would be without any new warriors.

The striped brown tom was standing by Hawkstar, his head held high. Maplepool was sure that he would be a great deputy; he already looked the part. As the cats were dismissed and began to disperse, Hawkstar stretched out on the Tallrock as if he intended to nap right then and there, looking as if a great burden had been relieved from his shoulders. Bearclaw bounded down from the Tallrock.

"I'd feel like I was on top of the world if I wasn't so worried about you," Bearclaw fretted as he landed beside her.

"Don't spoil your happiness," Maplepool murmured, pushing her own fears to the side, although they had started to brew inside her while the ceremony had happened. "Where would WindClan be if you left now?"

"Where will you be when I can't protect you?"

"Have faith, Bearclaw." _Because I don't think I do._ Hawkstar's words had been as brief a comfort as a greenleaf breeze: there for a moment, gone the next.

He licked her over the ears. "Come patrolling with me. Finchmask already did the deputy duties for today, so that's a good opportunity." Bearclaw left unspoken words hanging in the air: _we might never get a chance to patrol together again_.

"To where?" Maplepool asked, stretching.

"RiverClan border hasn't been marked today yet."

They trotted in comfortable silence to the border. Maplepool considered offering a race, but decided she was perfectly content to just follow Bearclaw and enjoy the feeling of the cool moor grass brushing her fur.

It didn't take long before they could hear the rushing of the river.

"We'll just head down the river until we hit the gorge, and then we can head back," Bearclaw told her.

"Sure thing, _deputy_."

They did just that, marking the borders as they went. Maplepool yelped as droplets of icy river water splashed onto her paws from a wave. _I don't know how RiverClan does it! Swimming and fishing, especially in this sort of weather..._ WindClan cats were accustomed to dry land; the grass soaked up all the rain, unlike in the muddy land of ShadowClan or the moist, peaty soil of ThunderClan.

As she walked closer to the gorge, she heard a crash of leaves and froze.

"What is it?" Bearclaw asked as it padded up beside her. Both cats then audibly heard a curse:

 _"Oh, frog-dung!"_

The brown cat narrowed his amber eyes and opened his muzzle to call out, asking who was there.

Silence.

"Show yourself," Maplepool meowed loudly. "We can find you if you don't, and we'll be a lot less happy about it too." She let the beginnings of a threat creep into her voice and bushed out her fur in case the mysterious curser was watching them.

"Oooor we could go back and report to Fi— Hawkstar," Bearclaw said quickly. "I'm sure he wouldn't be pleased to know that RiverClan's been around... wonder what Perchstar would think of that."

 _RiverClan?_ The mottled she-cat inhaled. She wasn't sure how she had missed it earlier; the fishy stench of their neighboring Clan was nearby, carried by the wind.

"I'm not on WindClan territory," rumbled a voice from across the river.

Maplepool stared as a fluffy white pelt emerged from behind the willow tree that hung over the gorge. The newcomer watched the WindClan cats with a vaguely entertained expression on his face. His blue eyes were sharp and bright as they met her own.

"Then why all the frog-dung-ing?" It was only a curious question; Bearclaw's hostility seemed to have vanished with the mystery. Both had lasted only briefly, not to be seen again.

" _Well_ ," the RiverClan cat began carefully, "I'm not exactly supposed to be here. Perchstar would have my tail if she knew I was out here."

"Which is why you showed yourself," Maplepool interjected.

"Because of my clever threat," said Bearclaw.

The white cat snorted. He eyed them curiously, then spoke:

"Say, you two seem younger than... the usual. Are you—?" He tilted his white head.

"Just me," Maplepool said quickly, jumping in before Bearclaw could say anything. RiverClan didn't need to know that WindClan had recruited a new warrior —apprentice, even, depending on how you looked at it— as their deputy. The white lie was plausible, anyhow; Bearclaw was bigger than the average tom for his age.

"Oh," he said, his eyes softening. "I could've sworn you were littermates... well, it's nice to meet you both. I'm Cloudtuft. I'm going to the Moon Tunnels, too."

The fawn she-cat felt herself grow warmer towards the tom —Cloudtuft— at this information, and studied him with renewed interest. He had a laid back kind of look to him, carefree, almost... _windblown_ , she mused internally. The white cat looked more warrior than apprentice, too, with his sleek, fluffy white pelt and long legs.

 _Formidable. I'd be glad to have him with me._

"My brother, Grassfur, is going, too. Anyone else from WindClan?" He didn't look surprised or disappointed when she shook her head. "Yeah, that's how it is in most Clans, I bet."

"We ought to get going," Bearclaw meowed abruptly. Maplepool glanced sideways at him. He didn't seem to have changed his opinion about Cloudtuft, but there was a strange edge to his voice. "Clan'll be wondering why we've been gone for so long."

"Same here... Actually, I'd hope they haven't noticed I'm gone." The RiverClan tom chuckled. "So... I'll see you at the Gathering?"

"Yes, of course," Maplepool mewed as Bearclaw began nudging her away. _What's up with him?_

She still had questions she wanted to ask, like _why aren't you supposed to be here_ and _what's Grassfur like_ and _are you scared, are you excited, are you born-ready or never-going-to-be-ready?_ The sun was barely starting to set.

"It was nice meeting you!" she called after his retreating figure, and he waved his tail to show that he had heard.

Somehow, the prospect of leaving WindClan alone seemed a little less scary now.


	5. The Gathering

**Chapter Five**

For the past two days, Dawnheart had barely spoken to him.

Stonefall, as a result, had barely spoken to anyone.

This wasn't a new development, but he'd always had Dawnheart around to banter with. She had been the only cat he felt comfortable enough around to actually talk and tease; how could he not? They'd grown up together.

But now, the golden she-cat was as good as a stranger.

If he was in camp, she was on patrol; if he was on patrol, she was in camp. If Thrushfeather tried to put them on the same patrol, she would make herself disappear around when it was time for the patrol to start and not show up until was over. Sometimes, if it was an impromptu patrol instead of a planned one, Stonefall would say he had to go make dirt and then disappear in a similar manner. She never acknowledged his feeble attempts to help; if anything, it seemed to make her more annoyed, in a classic Dawnheart _I can ignore you perfectly fine by myself!_ kind of way.

 _Talk to me,_ Stonefall thought, _don't be upset with me. Was it because I said no? Or are you jealous?_ Jealousy wasn't Dawnheart's style, but anger and grudge-holding certainly was. _I'm leaving tonight and we might never see each other again._

Was that what she wanted? Was it what all of them wanted?

Ever since he'd learned it was Thrushfeather who had chosen him to leave, Stonefall had been unable to shake off the nagging feeling that the journey to the Moon Tunnels was simply a clever means of removing ThunderClan's weakest link.

Now the moon was starting to rise, and while he trailed after the rest of his Clanmates as they made their way to Fourtrees, he was incredibly aware of every precious heartbeat passing by. The past two days had gone by so horribly fast, but at the same time, it felt like Dawnheart's cold shoulder had lasted forever.

Where was she, anyway? The gray tabby raised his head, scanning the mass of cats in front of him, but did not see the golden pelt of his sister. She was smaller than him, and he too was shorter than the senior warriors who he followed, so it would be hard to find her, in any case.

ThunderClan thundered down the slope, where Stonefall could see that ShadowClan was already waiting for them. Ears pricked and heads turned as the cats raced to get the best, front-seat spots in the clearing.

The gray tabby felt uncomfortable with so many glowing, foreign eyes looking in his direction. He tried to straighten up as he ran, to hold his head high like _I'm a proud ThunderClan cat, watch me!_ Then all of ShadowClan would be impressed; _who's that young one?_ they would ask. _Looks formidable. He might actually come back from the Moon Tunnels._

His head in the clouds over this ridiculous scenario, Stonefall ran straight into one of his Clanmates.

A very familiar Clanmate.

Dawnheart's scrambled to her paws, her green eyes narrowed in a glare. Something shifted in them as she saw who had knocked her over.

"Stonefall," said the golden tabby.

He opened and closed his jaws at his name. _I don't think she's ever actually called me Stonefall before._

"I'lljustuhsorry," he mumbled, backing away, but she whisked out her tail, blocking his path.

"No, stop," she said, and the ice that had been in her face for two days melted at long last. " _I'm_ sorry. Stonefall." She said his name again, with a gentleness that took him by surprise. Stonefall wished he could read cats better. What in the world was she thinking? Feeling? What was _he_ feeling? The gray tom was experiencing the lightness that came with the emotion of relief, but also something different he couldn't quite place his paw on. It was almost like fear, but why would he fear his sister?

 _Apprehension._ The word came to him, but he didn't know why he'd be apprehensive either.

Oh, and he was also feeling confused. Then again, when was he not?

"I've been an absolute pain in the tail," Dawnheart admitted, when Stonefall did not — _could_ not; all of his words were as gone as morning dew under greenleaf sun— speak. "I'm a terrible sister."

"You're not," he protested, the two words crawling out of his dry mouth.

"And now you're about to leave and I don't think I'd even have said good-bye if you hadn't run into me," the golden tabby said, with a quick shake of her head as if to say _I_ am _a terrible sister and don't you argue with me._

"But now you are."

"But I—"

"It doesn't matter a whisker," Stonefall mewed, although he wasn't sure if that was true. He shrugged his shoulders and tried to smile at her. Somehow, he felt as lost talking to her now as he did with every other cat. The easy feeling was gone.

 _Oh, Dawnheart, what happened?_

"Well... good-bye," Dawnheart said, almost as awkward as he was. "I mean, the Gathering hasn't started yet and all, but..."

 _I understand._ Stonefall settled down beside her and she seemed to relax. He noticed that she hadn't provided any justification for her ignoring him the past two days, but did he really want to hear it? He opened his mouth to say something and caught the scent of fish on the air.

 _RiverClan is here._

Their leader, elegant Perchstar, leapt deftly onto the Great Rock. She greeted the other leaders —Spottedstar and Darkstar, the ShadowClan leader— with a nod of her silvery head. Her Clan chose to sit next to ThunderClan, sandwiching the latter between them and ShadowClan.

Stonefall shifted closer to Dawnheart as a RiverClan warrior he didn't recognize sat down to his left. He continued to taste the air until he smelled heather, and as soon as he did, he heard Perchstar call out.

"Let the Gathering begin!"

"Excited, isn't she," Dawnheart whispered in his ear. He nodded mutely.

"I do believe I have the most exciting news," croaked the dark, silver-muzzled tabby who had just sprung onto the Great Rock. Hawkstar, leader of WindClan.

"Out with it, then," Perchstar said pleasantly.

"Finchmask has chosen to retire to the elders," Hawkstar rasped. "In his place, we have a new deputy: Bearclaw."

This was greeted with mutters and frowns. Stonefall looked to his right and saw Dawnheart wearing a complicated expression on her face: slightly troubled, very interested, and almost contemplative.

"What's wrong with Bearclaw?" he hissed at her under his breath.

"Nothing's wrong with him... but he's not a warrior."

Stonefall sucked in a breath. It seemed that ThunderClan was not the only one unwilling to send off their apprentices. "Weren't there two of them for this moon?" He remembered that, at least, even if he was horrible with names.

"Yes. There was a Maplepaw," Dawnheart replied, with her much greater memory.

Both cats were distracted by an outraged meow from the Great Rock.

"Hawkstar, has your old age addled your brains?" Perchstar demanded. Darkstar watched with a somber look on his face; Spottedstar looked worried. "You can't make an _apprentice_ your deputy!"

"It appears that I did, although I would much prefer you call him a warrior, if not deputy."

"He hasn't been given the blessing of StarClan!"

"What a cleanpaw," Stonefall heard a cat —WindClan?— mutter from behind him.

"And what's more," Perchstar spat, raging and bristling, "you are harming all of the Clans by stopping him from going to the Moon Tunnels! One cat less makes the group weaker as a whole— though not by much, apparently, seeing that WindClan is so weak they named a twelve-moon-old as their _deputy_. If you so refuse to send all of your apprentices like _honorable_ cats, I will refuse to send mine."

"Perchstar," Spottedstar interjected, unflinching as the silver cat whirled on her, "I believe that each Clan should be allowed to do as they see fit with their own cats."

"Oh, yes?" RiverClan's leader meowed scornfully. "Next you'll be telling me that you're not sending your apprentices!"

Stonefall tensed.

"As a matter of fact, I'm only sending one. Stonefall." The said tom pricked up his ears as he heard his name, but nothing more was said on the matter.

"So am I," Hawkstar pointed out. "Maplepool will go for WindClan this moon."

Betrayal sparked in Perchstar's eyes. She rounded on Darkstar, who didn't twitch a whisker. "And I suppose you—"

"Quite the opposite," the black tom rumbled, sounding almost amused. "I'm sending off Flamepaw, who has not quite yet reached twelve moons." He tilted his head down towards a cat in the ShadowClan crowd, who Stonefall couldn't see even reaching up on his hind legs.

Every face turned to stare at the leader of ShadowClan.

"What's the alternative?" Darkstar sounded as cool as newleaf rain while he explained his reasoning. "From what WindClan and ThunderClan are doing, and the fact that none of us have any more apprentices, it's either this or sending her off alone."

Perchstar seemed to consider his words.

"Then shouldn't you agree with me, Darkstar? Don't you want two extra warriors to keep your little kitten safe?"

"As Spottedstar said, each Clan should make their own decision."

All three leaders had abandoned Perchstar. Her eyes flashed warily as she faced them. "I will need to discuss this with my Clan."

"Right now?" asked Spottedstar. The silver she-cat scowled at her.

" _I'm_ not the one breaking tradition here. The cats will either go tonight... or not at all."

On that ominous note, she leapt off the Great Rock, calling for her Clan to come gather around her. Darkstar hesitated before the same with ShadowClan. Spottedstar and Hawkstar exchanged glances and stayed where they were.

 _If Perchstar doesn't agree, what will she do? She can't stop the rest of us from leaving, can she? But then, if she didn't let her own cats leave, there'd only be the three of us: one WindClan cat, one younger apprentice, and me, the useless furball. Would we really want to go in such a small group?_

 _And then what? The other Clans, except maybe ShadowClan, have no motivation to send off their cats. Perchstar would have to keep hers forever, because two cats definitely wouldn't make it alone, and that's exactly what she was arguing against._

 _She's trapped herself into a corner,_ Stonefall thought triumphantly, and realized that he was counting on being able to leave. Only then could he come back a hero and meet Thrushfeather's gaze. Only then would he have the bravery to ask if his father had thought he was useless, because if Stonefall survived the journey to the Moon Tunnels, then he would already have proven him wrong.

 _I_ want _to go. I really do._

"Stonefall?" A voice was saying his name, but it wasn't Dawnheart, who had already turned around with rabbit-fast reflexes to find the source of the noise.

There wasn't much finding to do, though. Stonefall found him face-to-face with Darkstar.

"You are Stonefall, correct? Come with me," ShadowClan's leader whispered urgently. "While Perchstar is distracted."

Stonefall saw Dawnheart getting ready to snap something at the black tom, and he flicked his tail over her muzzle, nodding to Darkstar.

"Why are you going to trust him?" Dawnheart demanded, spitting out his tail.

"Seems like a trustworthy cat," he attempted to meow lightly, horribly aware that this near stranger could hear his every word. "Don't the leaders send us off, anyway?"

"But Perchstar—"

"Dawnheart, _I'm going_."

His sister fell silent, and so did he. Both cats were equally surprised by his commanding tone.

"May StarClan light your path," she said at last, and Stonefall turned towards Darkstar. The black tom was waiting patiently despite his warning of "quickly," his gray gaze elsewhere.

Feeling more comfortable when he realized the leader wasn't scrutinizing them, he said to his sister: "I'll— see you." _Years from now, in StarClan, I bet._

She dipped her head. As Stonefall silently went with Darkstar, who'd noticed that the gray tabby was ready at just the suspiciously right time, he thought he heard her whisper:

"And may you find good hunting, swift running, and shelter when you sleep."

A jolt went through Stonefall like lightning as he heard his sister use the send-off reserved for cats who had died. _Does she think I'm as good as dead?_ A journey with just the three of them, and however many RiverClan cats there were —two, he was pretty sure— was not an optimistic one. The trip to the Moon Tunnels was supposed to consist of at least eight cats: a single, average litter from each Clan.

"Thank you," Darkstar said as he walked towards a cluster of WindClan cats. "Time is of the essence. We must get all of you sent off for this Gathering, else the Clans might never have another group to send off again. Even if Perchstar is still adamant with her refusal, if we gather all of you beforehand, we can send you off quickly without her noticing."

 _Wouldn't the RiverClan cats be loyal to their leader?_ Stonefall wondered, desperately curious, but unwilling to ask in case it was rude to question the leader's decision.

"Of course, there's always the risk that the RiverClan apprentices will refuse to go," continued Darkstar conversationally. "It's simply a risk we have to take, but I find it unlikely. You wouldn't refuse, in a situation like this, would you?"

Stonefall stared at Darkstar, surprised; no one had ever answered his unspoken questions before. He liked this cat. He pondered over the last question for a while. _I wouldn't be brave enough to outright defy Spottedstar, but I would definitely want to go to the Moon Tunnels,_ he thought, recalling the triumph he had felt when he knew Perchstar would lose no matter what. _Sneaking away like this... I'd be sorely tempted._

"Plus, I sent Flamepaw to go get RiverClan. She can be very... convincing."

When Stonefall said nothing, still stuck on the dilemna of loyalty to your leader versus personal desires, Darkstar gave him a half smile.

"Cat of few words? That's fine. It'll only make others listen more carefull when you do have something to say."

Was that praise? Stonefall tilted his head at the other cat. The only time anyone commented on his social skills was to call him shy, or tell him he needed to talk more.

 _That's fine._

 _I'm fine._

 _I'm a cat of few words,_ the tom thought, settling into the name like it was a comfortable nest, _and that's fine._

"Ah, here we are." Darkstar scanned the cats, who were lost in their own worries and had not noticed his approach. His gaze fell on a mottled fawn-and-ginger she-cat who looked younger than the rest. "Stonefall, could you...? They'd be less wary of you than me. It was easier to get your attention; no one was around but your sister."

Briefly, Stonefall wondered how Darkstar knew that Dawnheart was his sister, or how he'd found Stonefall at all. Even more quickly, he realized he was an idiot; they were the only young cats in ThunderClan.

"Me?" he whispered to the leader.

"You can do it."

Feeling his chest threatening to burst with pride, Stonefall crept up behind his to-be comrade and prodded her with a paw. She jumped and turned to face him. The senior warriors eyed him, looked him up and down, and turned away, except for the striped brown tom at Maplepool's flank, who watched threateningly.

"Er, hi," said Stonefall.

Maplepool looked at him. The tom next to her bristled.

"Sorry, what?" she said.

"I said hi," the tabby said in a louder, feeling his pelt burn. "You're Maplepool, right?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "That's a little obvious, don't you think? I'm the only apprentice she-cat around here."

"I'm Stonefall," he said, and to his relief, both cats seemed to relax the slightest bit. _Little obvious, don't you think?_ he considered saying, but decided against it; best not to antagonize her, even teasingly, and it would waste time.

"You have to come with me," he continued, maybe a little too quickly, because Maplepool frowned as if she couldn't hear what he was saying. "Uh... Perchstar," he tried more slowly, "she might not let her cats go, so we're taking them, and you, so we can just run away with out without her permission."

Maplepool looked shocked.

"Why would you do that?" demanded the striped tom.

"Beeecause..." Stonefall faltered. His ears felt hot, and he was itchy, as if something were stuck to his pelt.

"Because Perchstar should not dictate what the rest of us can do, but she may do so indirectly if she prevents her apprentices from leaving," Darkstar interjected, coming to the rescue. Stonefall glanced at the other warriors and realized that they were deep in some sort of debate, not sparing Maplepool and the other tom a single glance.

"Do you trust them?" the brown tom whispered to her, loud enough for Stonefall and Darkstar to hear.

"Well, if I can't trust _him_ ," Maplepool said dryly, flicking her ears toward Stonefall, "I'm pretty screwed for the whole journey, aren't I?"

Stonefall choked on a relieved laugh. What was happening to him? He rarely laughed. "Does that mean you're coming with us?" he asked bravely.

"Do I have a choice?" She turned away from them. "Take care, Bearclaw," he heard her say to the tom, who in turn whispered something else more quietly to her. They touched noses and she stood up.

"Follow me," said Darkstar. "We'll wait for Flamepaw hidden away, unless she's waiting for us already."

The finality of the moment set in.

 _Maplepool, Flamepaw, and the RiverClan cats. We're meeting now. This is all happening now._ Stonefall felt a strange mixture of nervous and excited at the same time, the same as he had felt before his coming-of-age ceremony, but stronger on both sides.

 _Whether I'm ready or not, this is happening._


	6. Cloudtuft

**Chapter Six**

Cloudtuft thought that his brother's expressions were quite dynamic, and consequently hilarious.

He was also aware that this was probably a bad thing to think —unkind, at the least, and cruel at the most— but it was simply true.

Take, for example, his flurry of faces throughout the Gathering.

Grassfur's first reaction had been polite disinterest at Hawkstar's news, wearing the neutral, almost annoyed face he chose to wear at all times. Upon learning, or remembering, that Bearclaw wasn't a warrior, his eyes had widened just the slightest bit. When Perchstar had raged and snarled at the other leaders, he'd tilted his head to the side.

And then their leader said the magic words.

 _"I will refuse to send mine!"_

The russet tom's face had proceeded to flash from a disbelief where his jaw went slack and his paws shook, quickly to an anger where fire flashed in his golden eyes and his spiky fur was even more bushed than it usually was, to a mixture of both. Disbelief and anger.

The same faces he had shown a moon ago, when Perchstar had called them for their coming-of-age ceremony. Disbelief: _it's already been two moons since Sweetleaf left?_ Anger, a grieving kind of anger: _how could she not be here?!_

He was so easy to read.

And now, Grassfur radiated hostility, standing with his back arched and hissing at the little blue-gray apprentice in front of them. To her credit, she didn't cower, but met his gaze and matched whatever emotion he displayed towards her.

"You will both come with me, and quickly," said Flamepaw of ShadowClan.

"And why should I?" Grassfur growled at her. Now he was uncomfortable, because this tiny cat was mirroring his glare, reflecting his bad attitude right back at him. He was also probably taken aback because no one had ever continued to bother him when he was in one of his moods. Cloudtuft's brother was used to being left alone and liked it that way.

"Hey, maybe listen and she'll tell us," the white-furred tom chided mildly, nudging the russet cat. "Hear her out."

"This one's got sense," Flamepaw meowed, making Cloudtuft twitch his whiskers as the expression on Grassfur's face grew even more incredulous. "Are you sure you're related?"

"Are you mocking me?"

"If you intend to make a fool of yourself, I don't see why I can't."

There was a sudden movement in the mass of RiverClan cats surrounding Perchstar, and the humor died from Flamepaw's green eyes. "Like I said, quickly. Perchstar may not let you go to the Moon Tunnels, so we have to get you out of here and run."

Cloudtuft saw Grassfur grow interested at the mention of the tunnels: his tail lifted and his ears pricked ever so slightly.

"I'm in." The white tom cast his vote of confidence, giving Flamepaw an encouraging grin as he saw her paws begin to tremble. She might be a brave goose, confronting Grassfur, but she was still young.

"Wait, Cloudtuft," Grassfur protested. He narrowed his eyes at Flamepaw. "Who's 'we'?"

"Me and the army behind us," she deadpanned.

Grassfur jumped, missing the sarcasm, and scowled at her after seeing nothing in the forest.

He'd have liked to guffaw at this, but it had been a miracle they were even able to get away from RiverClan to talk in the first place, and the last thing they needed was more attention.

Actually, it hadn't been too much of a miracle —Cloudtuft had already dragged Grassfur away before he could yell at Perchstar because that would lead to very bad things— but still, the sentiment remained. If they really were going to sneak off, they had to do it very stealthily.

Now, Grassfur was torn between his desire to go to the Moon Tunnels and his natural distrust of strangers, especially strangers who talked back.

"Grassfur, if we can't trust her, where will we be on the journey?" Cloudtuft pointed out.

 _Think of Sweetleaf. Don't you want to you save her?_ Personally, he thought it was a hopeless goal, but it was what drove his brother. He also thought that it would be a bad idea to say her name out loud when Grassfur was so sensitive; he would have to think of it himself.

"I mean, I _can_ always knock you out, if you take too long deciding," Flamepaw said. "Your RiverClan friends seem a little preoccupied, and I don't think Cloudtuft will stand in my way."

"Devout believer of no fighting during Gatherings," the white tom joked. "I'll just be a bystander."

"Quit that!" Grassfur turned his fiery glare onto his brother before returning it to Flamepaw. "Fine, I'll go," he snapped, "but my claws will be unsheathed."

"Duly noted. Follow me, quietly!"

The two RiverClan toms slunk away after the apprentice, Grassfur seething at having to following someone who didn't even have their faux name, Cloudtuft incredibly impressed by the same someone.

He was eager to get this thing started.

The older warriors often asked Cloudtuft what he thought of going to the Moon Tunnels; even Grassfur had tried a few times. Cloudtuft evaded their questions like a minnow through claws: slippery, barely, and possibly frustrating the askers in the process.

 _"Are you scared?"_

 _"Reasonable cats would be scared, going off on a journey that no one's come back from for a while."_

Or:

 _"Are you excited?"_

 _"I like challenges."_

If he was desperate and couldn't come up with something on the spot, he would flip their question back at them:

 _"How do you feel knowing that your coming of age is in a day?"_

 _"How did_ you _feel?"_

It seemed like the only proper response to anything regarding the Moon Tunnels was either "scared to the tips of my whiskers," which was met with a sympathetic nod and it's-for-the-good-of-the-Clan, or "excited to be the first to come back since a long time," which netted the response of that's-the-spirit!

In reality, things were a lot more complicated.

Cloudtuft was not optimistic about the results of the journey. If all the apprentices before them had failed, what made his group different? He didn't have the "failure is not an option" mindset of Grassfur, or the "everything will be okay" that Flamepaw seemed to have. But, at the same time, he wasn't scared. He just had a gloomy acceptance of his fate; to run from it would be cowardly, and whatever else he might be, Cloudtuft was no coward.

He was born to go to the Moon Tunnels and die in vain; that was all there was to it.

However, there was also something that kept him going, that stirred the adrenaline in his vessels and awakened the thrill in his head.

It was definitely not the expected reason to be excited for going to the moon tunnels. If RiverClan knew, the would probably have a bounty for his head.

He wanted friends.

Cloudtuft told himself daily that he was being a stupid fishface. Look at ShadowClan— they hadn't sent off apprentices in moons! Flamepaw was probably all alone. Meanwhile, he had his brother, and the not-one not-two not-three but _four_ cats around his age who were there for most of his life.

He just didn't click with them.

He loved Grassfur, he really did, but his littermate was the most irritable cat he knew. It was sometimes a pain to deal with.

Sweetleaf had been polite, but they never really exchanged more than small pleasantries; she had only eyes for Grassfur.

Heronwing was a bully. Thymesong was painfully shy. Meadowpelt was full of herself.

The older warriors were just... old.

Cloudtuft had heard many nostalgic elders' tales about the bonds forged on the journey to the Moon Tunnels. As a kit, his wild imagination had run off and he had expected a group full of other Cloudkits, who joked and laughed and had a darn good time together. As a 'paw, his expectations were slightly more realistic.

 _But still high,_ he tried to tell himself. _All the other cats could very well be more Grassfurs than Cloudtufts._ He willed himself not to be disappointed.

He'd die anyway, in the end.

The white tom realized that his train of thought was growing quite morbid, and quickly snapped back into the present, taking in his surroundings. Flamepaw was leading them carefully past all the restless warriors, to some destination only she knew.

It took less than a minute. Flamepaw ducked behind one of the four trees of Fourtrees. Quietly, she called out, "Darkstar?"

Cloudtuft and Grassfur exchanged alarmed glances. _The ShadowClan leader?_

"You did it!"

The black tom's appeared from behind the tree, and he scanned the two RiverClan cats. "Good work. You two, come behind here."

"Now this is just asking too much," Grassfur grumbled. "Obeying the orders of a ShadowClan apprentice was bad enough, but their _leader?_ "

"Give him a chance," Cloudtuft told him.

The russet tom snorted, but followed his brother behind the great oak.

The other two cats were already waiting for them, along with Darkstar and Flamepaw.

"Maplepool!" exclaimed Cloudtuft, delighted. The fawn-and-ginger she-cat was staring up at the starry night sky, but upon hearing his voice, her amber eyes met his blue and they brightened.

Grassfur stared at the she-cat for half a second, his mouth slightly open, before reverting to his usual scowl. He turned away from them, sitting stiffly in his own bubble of isolation.

She edged closer towards him, because for her he was the only familiar face in this ragtag group of cats. He touched her cheek briefly with his muzzle in greeting and breathed in the soft scent of heather.

"We don't have a moment to lose," Darkstar said, and his tone made all five heads, even Grassfur's, snap up to attention. Cloudtuft studied the cats that he would be traveling with.

There was Flamepaw, of course, more gray than blue in the low light. She looked to Darkstar as if he made the sun rise every morning and set every night; she was devoted to him, it appeared, and watched him raptly as she waited for him to speak. If Cloudtuft read Flamepaw correctly, she wasn't the kind of cat to go out handing respect to every cat there was. This could be considered a great honor from the spirited apprentice.

A gray tabby tom —ThunderClan, so... Stonefall, was it?— sat a little awkwardly to the side, his tail curled around him. He was a loner, like Grassfur, but not by choice, judging from the longing with which he looked at Cloudtuft and Maplepool. Cloudtuft felt a little sorry for him. Stonefall, too, seemed to admire Darkstar. Was the ShadowClan leader really so great, that a ThunderClan cat liked him?

Maplepool, next to him, was the most mysterious of the three of them. She was the kind of cat he thought he'd pass over as "just another WindClan cat" in any other circumstance, if they weren't tied together by their ages. Kind, mild, slightly wary towards Darkstar and the others but warmer towards Cloudtuft himself; he supposed she could be naïve. She'd just met him, after all.

Just for fun, he studied Grassfur as well. His brother's face was still annoyed— if not for the flashes of emotion that the russet tom failed to squash, Cloudtuft would probably think his face had gotten stuck that way. His russet fur was as smooth as it could be, which was not very much, and his paws were turned toward Darkstar. He was interested, calm, possibly excited; he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

 _To rescue Sweetleaf, of course._

In the time it took Cloudtuft to briefly analyze the four, Darkstar had murmured something in Flamepaw's ear. He missed her initial reaction, but saw her sitting up straighter than before.

"I'm afraid I'll have to send you off alone," Darkstar meowed. "If Spottedstar and Hawkstar get involved, I don't know if they would keep it secret from Perchstar... and if RiverClan attacked ShadowClan, it wouldn't be good. This way, we can all feign ignorance."

"Fair enough," Cloudtuft said out loud, wondering if the leader would tell his own Clanmates. Surprisingly, it seemed that no one was particularly upset about going behind their leaders' backs.

(Flamepaw would, he guessed, if Darkstar were not the ringleader of their escapade. But then, if that were the case, would he still be the type of cat she respected?)

"There are words for the ceremony, but I have not the place to say them, alone like this. Instead, I'll send you off with instructions, and the best of wishes." The black cat spoke in hushed tones.

Cloudtuft twitched an ear. The warriors in the clearing were growing restless; he could hear their annoyed grumbles.

The speed of ShadowClan's leader's words increased.

"Go north from here. That's all there is to it. North is through Wind Clan territory, but you'll have to go a little east, through ShadowClan's this time, and disguise your scent. Flamepaw will show you the way. There is a willow tree just outside of the moors, and that will be your landmark, where you can recalibrate.

"From there, it's just straight north. Don't take turns and muddle up your sense of direction, but if you do happen to stray from your path, wait for night and look to our ancestors." Darkstar lifted his muzzle to the sky. "There is a warrior in Silverpelt, the star just there —not the brightest, but easy to find, a lone cat in the sky— who stays in the same spot in the every night; follow him. He is the north.

"And once you have crossed all the obstacles, you will reach a mountain, with the entrance to the Moon Tunnels at its base. Enter, and part ways; StarClan will guide your paws from there."

They had just crossed paths, and Darkstar already spoke of parting ways. Was he so optimistic?

It seemed rather foolish.

"It's time to go now," finished Darkstar, just as a wave or murmurs rippled through the Gathering cats. Cloudtuft looked around and saw his Clanmates parting a path for Perchstar to return to the Great Rock. "I wish you the best of luck."

Flamepaw stepped closer to her leader as he took a step back, opening and closing her jaws but unable to speak. He dipped his head to her, and she pressed hers to his. Cloudtuft looked up to the sky, unwilling to witness the somber, silent good-bye.

Then the blue-gray apprentice tore herself away, and the black tom took great strides to the Great Rock, moving with a sort of elegance, and made it up just heartbeats after Perchstar had reclaimed her own spot.

"Have you come to a decision, then?" Cloudtuft could hear him ask, and he desperately wanted to know what the silver RiverClan leader would say, but Flamepaw was already facing north. Her mew, an eerie echo of Darkstar's still-fresh words, was louder than Perchstar's distant reply and drowned any words the white tom might have been able to hear.

"It's time."


	7. Pendulum

**Chapter Seven**

"Could you walk any slower?"

Grassfur's snappy words earned him a nettled glare from Flamepaw and a disapproving stare from Cloudtuft. He disregarded the both of them, still seething from the injuries to his pride that he'd received from both. The eleven-moon-old had mocked him, and his brother had betrayed him, forcing him to tuck in his tail like a little kit and follow her.

Now, he had to follow her _again!_ And Cloudtuft was taking her side... _again!_

The white tom seemed to have taken a liking to the less fiery she-cat in their group. Grassfur eyed the mottled fawn WindClanner with his peripheral vision. She and Cloudtuft had met before, surely, from the way they had greeted, but when? At a Gathering? Perchstar guarded RiverClan's apprentices like they were the most precious things in the world; there was no way his brother could have gotten away to talk to her.

She didn't seem like anything special.

And yet, there was something strangely familiar about her fur... the sense of déjà vu made his fur prickle uncomfortably. When Grassfur tried to delve deeper into this mystery, he felt blood pounding in his ears, smelled fear-scent on the air, and got a nasty headache. His solution was to not think about it one bit.

He didn't care, after all.

She wasn't worth his time.

She rubbed his fur the wrong way, everything from the tips of her ears to her tail, the way she pranced with her dainty little paws, the way she gazed at Cloudtuft. He had half a mind to break her legs and claw her eyes out; it was a strange, uncontrollable, violent rage in his stomach that got worse as it festered, an infected wound that couldn't be treated.

Flamepaw still took first place for "most annoying" —she seemed to be walking slower, if anything, after his snide comment— but there was something deeper about his distaste for Maplepool.

He ground his teeth at the mere thought of her name.

It bothered him even more because some rational part of him _knew_ he was being absolutely unreasonable, but he couldn't _help it_.

"No, really, we don't have all night," Grassfur called out to the blue-gray apprentice in what he thought was an admirably polite way, but she gave no response save for an almost contemptuous flick of her tail, and Cloudtuft still frowned at him.

The gray ThunderClan cat sidled up next to Grassfur, and he gave an involuntary start. He hadn't heard the light-footed tabby come from behind him, and all five cats smelled like ferns and swamp muck, to disguise their scent and keep ShadowClan safe, by Darkstar's orders.

 _Stonefall, was it?_ Grassfur only vaguely recalled his name, which had been mentioned in passing by Spottedstar at the Gathering. The russet tom looked questioningly at the other cat, who seemed like he really wanted to say something and really didn't want to say anything simultaneously.

The absolutely nonthreatening, almost scared posture of Stonefall had put Grassfur slightly more at ease with him than he was with the other two strangers. However, he found himself quickly getting annoyed again as the gray tabby semmed to fluctuate between "I have something to say" and "Pretend that never happened."

"Out with it, then," growled the RiverClan cat. In front of them, Flamepaw turned her head to glance at at the toms briefly, curiousity emanating from the prick of her ears and the tilt of her head, before he caught her eye and she quickly turned away.

Stonefall visibly flinched.

"Ithinkyoushould keep in mind that this, uh, this is her last time being home for a long time, and I mean _I_ don't think we're going that slow but even if she was that would be reasonable because it's her last time being home for a long time."

Grassfur opened his jaws to snap back a retort. _Great— I'm stuck with my brother, two annoying she-cats, and a tom who can't even string together a proper sentence as my group members._

 _...my group members._

 _Much as I hate them,_ the russet tom realized, _they_ are _my group._

So instead of making a snide comment about Stonefall's redundant, too-quickly-spoken sentence, he just said, "I don't get what you're saying." Even the slightest bit of bite to his tone, he knew, would scare the pitifully nervous ThunderClanner.

And plus, he truly didn't get it.

"Home" wasn't the dull RiverClan territory that he lived in. He felt little attachment to the land in which he'd been born and raised, even though he admitted that it had been quite a good home. If Grassfur felt that way to his own habitat, he didn't see how anyone could be sad over this dank, swampy, river-less place. Pinecones jutted out here and there in the sticky, slimy-cold mud, unpleasantly spiky whenever he stepped on a stray one. The pine trees themselves seemed to close in on him, making the atmosphere too tight for his liking, and creepy-looking vines slung themselves around everywhere. Crickets chripped incessantly, and an owl hooted in the distance.

"Don't you have anything precious to you?" Grassfur missed the sincerity of Stonefall's question and instead heard an accusation. He went straight to bristling, ready to snarl, but the gray tabby went on: "If you knew it'd be the last time seeing it, I'd think you'd want to... savorthemoment."

It seemed that Stonefall had crawled back into his turtle shell, because he'd reverted from speaking relatively normally —his voice was still very quiet— to speaking hurriedly, to not at all. But Grassfur didn't want or need to hear anything else; he was stuck on thoughts of his own.

 _Something precious to me._

 _Of course I do._

 _Home,_ he thought with a pang in his chest, _is where Sweetleaf is._

At the same time, another voice in his mind told him, _Oh, stop moping, you're worse than Flamepaw! You're on your way to find her. Isn't that good enough?_

It sounded very much like him, the way he spoke to other cats. _Maybe I just_ want _to mope,_ he argued, irritated, at himself. Then the ridiculousness of it set in, and he pulled himself out of the weird space in head, focusing instead Stonefall. The tabby's head was ducked and he was staring at the ground as he walked. It was not a very good idea, as he was liable to run into Flamepaw, just mouselengths ahead of them, so the RiverClan tom made him look up with two words.

"I understand."

Shock sparked in Stonefall's eyes. Grassfur snuck a glance at Cloudtuft, who seemed equally surprised, and drove in the last claw.

"Thank you."

The air seemed to tremble as all four cats stopped as one and stared at him.

He looked to Flamepaw first, a little defiantly. _Don't expect me to go apologizing. I'd eat my tail before I did._ The blue-gray she-cat merely gave him a half grin. Shaking his head in disbelief, he let his eyes fall on Cloudtuft, who looked incredibly delighted — _overreaction,_ he thought— and then finally Maplepool. He fought the scowl trying to return to his face and instead met her glowing amber eyes with a cool, neutral stare. It was easier when she wasn't moving and just looked at him like all the others.

 _Maybe I_ can _help things, if I try hard enough._

But trying was exhausting, and he thought he'd tried more than enough for one night, so he shook out his pelt and muttered, "What are you staring at? Let's get going."

As the five cats set out again, he thought that Flamepaw be walking just the slightest bit faster.

...

"This is the border."

Flamepaw halted at the edge of the pine forest. Grassfur wanted to launch himself out of the dark pine marsh and straight outside to fresh air, but he willed himself to stay where he was.

"I can tell," Cloudtuft meowed, a laugh in his voice. It was true; the ShadowClan border smelled like, well, ShadowClan.

"The willow tree should be a little in that direction." Flamepaw jerked her head forward to the right, where Grassfur could see the tall grasses and heather of WindClan territory. He shivered unconciously, feeling something dark and slimy crawling down his spine. He did not want to go there.

"We'll have to go the long way," Flamepaw went on. "Don't want to leave scent trails in WindClan's territory. What'd they think if they went on patrol and it smelled like apparently mobile ferns and nettles invaded overnight?" She tilted her head to Maplepool with a grin.

"They'd probably be suspicious," the mottled she-cat replied seriously. Grassfur's pelt itched and he scratched at it with a hind leg, the action standing out to him as being weirdly familiar. _What in the name of StarClan? I mean, I scratch my flank all the time._

"Around their territory it is. Let's try our best not to overlap with their border." The blue-gray apprentice inhaled sharply, taking in the scents of the land surrounding them. Then she angled her ears forward and marched off at a respectable pace, everyone else following.

 _Who made you leader?_ Grassfur wondered. _If anything, Maplepool should be ahead._ But he didn't enjoy the idea of _her_ leading them either, so he kept his mouth shut and instead sped up to overtake Flamepaw. It should have been easy, given that he was two moons older and had longer legs, but she matched his speed with ease, as if she was quite used to flanking warriors who were older and taller than herself.

Peaty, wet mud turned to short grass beneath his pawpads as he walked —it was really more of a trot at this point— along. The grass was a soft green blanket over the soil, but it grew taller, yellower, and more dispersed the further they ventured northwest. Eventually, the blades were about a mouselength high, if you included the tail and dangled the mouse so gravity hung it straight.

Flamepaw still seemed determined to be at the front; Grassfur was still determined to win while simultaneously making sure he was absolutely _not_ turning this into a race, because doing so was frog-brained and childish.

Behind them, Stonefall was trailing at the rear, gazing at the golden grass tinted blue by the night sky. Cloudtuft and Maplepool still walked together, murmuring things to each other as they walked. Grassfur ignored them; he was so far ahead he couldn't hear what they were saying, and he didn't want to, either.

Flamepaw was a nose ahead of him.

He went a nose ahead of Flamepaw.

He tried not to go so fast he could be running —that would just make him look stupid— but at the rate this was going, his speedwalking looked just as stupid.

Several more minutes passed, until:

"Great StarClan, you two!"

Cloudtuft's mew rang out from somewhere behind them and made both cats skid to a halt. Grassfur turned around and realized thst the other three were more than a few foxlengths behind them.

"Great StarClan to you, not catching up with us," Grassfur snapped back, trying to hide the hot embarrassment that was creeping under his skin. "The moon's setting, we don't have all night."

"Riiight," Cloudfur meowed. "The _moon's setting,_ that's all." He chortled and dashed over to them; Maplepool and Stonefall followed. Grassfur turned his head until he couldn't see the running fawn-and-ginger cat; it made him uncomfortable to see her moving. The russet rom felt a strange twist of fear and anger that came with the discomfort and sank unsheathed claws into the dry soil.

Once all five cats were reunited, she spoke. "Grassfur's right. We should move faster. The willow tree's just up ahead, but it's right outside WindClan territory; they'd find us in the morning."

He was irritated, and didn't know why. Was it because she'd said his name, or agreed with him, or tried to order tem around? Maybe he was just annoyed that he hadn't noticed the willow tree, too absorbed in the silent contest. It really was "just up ahead"; its low-hanging branches and drooping leaves hung in sight not too far away.

"Race you there!" Flamepaw cried with glee, her voice still slightly hushed so not to wake the whole of WindClan. With a burst of speed, she dashed off in a blue-gray blur.

Surprisingly enough, Stonefall was the first to react, sprinting across the field in pursuit of the ShadowClan she-cat.

"I'm the WindClanner here, of course I'll win," Maplepool meowed, and took off, leaving dust in her wake. Grassfur and Cloudtuft exchanged glances and, by silent agreement, ran.

It was exhilerating; cold leaf-bare wind brushed his muzzle and gave him a rush of adrenaline. Grassfur heard blood roaring in his ears. He got closer to the tails of the other group members. Flamepaw was still in the lead, from her head start; Stonefall was the slightest bit behind, and Grassfur overtook him. He could hear the others' pounding paws behind him.

The race ended as abruptly as it started. Alarmed at seeing the moonlit willow trunk right next to his muzzle but unable to stop his momentum, Grassfur slammed into the bark. The other cats were either sprawled out in the grass, collapsed, or sitting down by the base of the tree.

"Who won?" Stonefall asked, as if the run had loosened the tight muscles that kept his jaws clamped closed.

"Can't... tell," Flamepaw panted. "Probably me."

"As if," Cloudtuft grumbled playfully, getting to his paws and shaking soil off his white pelt. "In a fair race, I assure you, I'd win."

Maplepool made a noise of agreement.

"Let's keep going," Grassfur said. To his surprise, they all listened, standing up and looking more alert.

"All right. See, here's the willow tree, and there's the WindClan border, so north would be perpendicular to it..." Flamepaw rotated until her muzzle pointed in the opposite direction of WindClan territory. Grassfur found himself wondering why no one had ever taught _him_ directions.

"Plus, there's the s-star that Darkstar told us about," Stonefall meowed, stuttering midway through as everyone's eyes turned to him. _Peculiar cat._

"This way, then? Onward!" Cloudtuft crowed, and they were off.

The cats walked more in a group now, less Stonefall-here, Grassfur-there, Flamepaw-ahead, or Cloudtuft-and-Maplepool-glued-by-the-sides and more of just a bundle of cats travelling together. Despite the chilly air of a leaf-bare night, Grassfur felt warmed by the run and the heat emanating from everyone else's fur, and he found that he didn't mind it as much as he would have thought.

The peace lasted until early morning, when the ground was coldest and the sky was still dark.

"There's a stone over there," said Flamepaw, nodding to the large gray rock a few foxlengths ahead. "We've been walking for a while; shouldn't we stop and rest, especially when there's good shelter?"

"What? No!" exclaimed Grassfur. The group slowly came to a stop as Flamepaw faced him, bristling. "It's just going to get _lighter_ out. Why would you stop now?"

"Because we're all tired," Maplepool pointed out. He growled and ignored her.

"That's one more vote for my side," Flamepaw meowed.

"The _only_ one for you besides yourself," snapped Grassfur, turning to the others. "Stonefall? What do you think?"

"I mean... I dunno," the tabby mumbled, shifting his paws. "Whatever you all decide. I'm not fussy."

"I'm taking that as a vote for _my_ side," the russet tom said.

"What? That's not even—"

"Stonefall doesn't mind. He said so himself. Right?"

"...sure?"

"Cloudtuft, what about you?" Before Grassfur could ask his brother, Flamepaw had beaten him to it. He glared at her; she met his gold gaze with her own pale green, the way she had done just hours ago at the Gathering. _Feels like a lot longer than hours._

"See, the thing is," the white tom said reasonably, "I feel like you would be more willing to listen if Grassfur hadn't snapped at you, Flamepaw."

She dipped her head, conceding.

"Don't treat me like a kit," Grassfur hissed from clenched teeth, not missing the slight condescending edge to Cloudtuft's voice.

"Like Stonefall, I don't mind either way; we'll have to sleep eventually, but I'm not too exhausted, so if it makes you happy and the others don't mind, I'd vote for going on."

"What if I _do_ mind?" Flamepaw challenged.

"Too late, already voted, we're going on." Grassfur stormed off without waiting for any responses.

He seemed to have forgotten his only purpose for going on this blasted journey to the Moon Tunnels, but the words "stop and rest" had thankfully knocked sense back into his head. Every moment spent not on the move was a moment longer between him and Sweetleaf reuniting. That was the only thing he cared about.

He knew he had to stop some time, but he'd only do it when he was absolutely exhausted, and at his own leisure. If the other wimps couldn't keep up with him, fine! He didn't need them.

 _What happened to all that fluff about them being your group members?_ asked the annoying voice in his head.

 _It was just that: fluff. As nonsensical and useless as the fluff on Cloudtuft's belly._

He heard them speaking behind him.

"I don't want him to win for just being stupid, but I also don't know what else we could do." _Flamepaw._

"We can't leave him, can we?" Maplepool's question was tinged with a tone suggesting that she would very much like to leave him.

"It's like he took two steps forward and then two steps back." _Cloudtuft._ Grassfur lashed his tail. "I say we follow him. He's my brother... plus, I'll get some sense into him. Eventually."

Stonefall, predictably, did not offer any of his thoughts.

The sounds of their pawsteps grew louder, but they did not confront him. That was fine. He would rather be alone and in the lead anyway, he told himself.

They walked briskly, in silence that was colder and bit deeper than the icy leaf-bare air.


	8. Shine

**Chapter Eight**

The day dawned bright and blue-skied.

Flamepaw was the first to rise, awakened by the cheerful morning wind tickling her whiskers and brushing the fur on her head. Immediately, she realized it was much later in the morning than she ever woke up at; the sun was at its full brightness despite it being the coldest season, and it seemed only a few hours away from sunhigh. She noticed that the sky was startlingly clear— not of clouds, for thick white masses of the stuff were scattered throughout the blue, blue sky, but of trees.

In ShadowClan, pine trees towered over their territory, giving her only bits and pieces of sky. While Flamepaw relished the comfort and security that came with living under the shadows of the pines, the open sky over the fields struck her as being very... _free._

It was incredible. She could see for skylengths, so far that she could see the curve of the sky itself. ShadowClan cats in particular had the best night vision, but the land she'd seen at night in her muddled sleepiness was universes apart from this morning-day, golden-sun world.

Her eyesight was not the only thing sharpened; her ears could pick up faraway birdsong, the _coo-coo_ ing of a dove, the scuttle of life hidden safe within the tall grass. She could smell the subtle, earthy scent of heather, feel the distinct aridness of the soil, taste the musky aroma of rabbit carried by the gentle breezes that danced around in the air.

 _Is this how WindClan feels every day, waking up?_

 _Probably not; they'd wake up earlier than this._

A frown crossed the blue-gray cat's face briefly as she surveyed her snoring group of cats.

By Grassfur's intense stubbornness, they'd trekked for much longer than they should have. By the time they were all tripping over their own paws, only open field surrounded them on all sides, with no shelter to be found, so they'd had to move on even further as the first pale purple rays of morning started to appear.

Then, finally, they reached a bit of ground that sloped upward, almost like a hill, and dropped steeply down. It was a tiny cliff, of sorts, and they'd all nestled up against it, safe from the wind, but still vulnerable. No one had the strength to keep watch, or the heart to ask someone else to do it— though, if you asked Flamepaw, she thought Grassfur deserved to have to stay awake and keep an eye out.

 _Well, I wonder if I should wake them up._ Cats in general tended to be grumpy if they were broken out of their proper sleep cycles, so Flamepaw decided to leave well enough alone.

Her paws itched to be moving. She could almost sympathize with Grassfur, but this was her just up from a nice rest, and their situation last night had been the polar opposite.

 _Who knows how long these furballs will stay asleep? I could go exploring, come back, and they'd probably just be awakening._ She eyed the other cats.

Stonefall was splayed out in the weirdest position she'd ever seen a cat sleep in, his limbs akimbo and his white underbelly fluttering slightly in the wind. He slept peacefully, a little further away from the others, having rolled away from the cliff in his sleep. She was surprised to notice how warm she felt toward him, no doubt an aftereffect of his attempt to stand up for her in the face of Grassfur.

Grassfur himself seemed tense in his sleep, a stark contrast to the calmly dozing Stonefall. His russet pelt was spiked every which way. She peered at him inquisitively; his muscles seemed to be frozen in place, and his breathing was shallow; if she didn't know better, she'd think he'd frozen up and died of hypothermia overnight. Flamepaw felt an odd pang at the thought. She didn't particularly like him, but still the thought of his premature death was not a welcome one, it seemed.

Maplepool and Cloudtuft were closest, not together but a few whiskers apart, the empty space separating them filled with untagible things like clan boundaries. She didn't know how long they'd known each other, but it seemed like a lot longer than it should be.

 _They don't look like they're going to get up any time soon._

Still, the apprentice hesitated, moving a step away and then a step back. The repeated motion became a kind of awkward, single-stepped pace.

The wind beckoned.

It swam around her with an easy grace, cooling her skin, kissing her muzzle as she lifted it to admire the sky. This made up her mind.

 _All cats have noses, don't they? If they wake up and I'm not back, they can just follow my scent trail. Plus, I'll just be heading north._

Quickly, she recalled which way the cliff was facing according to how they'd come across it earlier, and used that to determine where north was: it was the direction towards the thin forest that hung near the edge of the horizon, instead of the field that covered all the other sides.

 _All right, forest-land, here I come!_ It looked like an oak forest, not pine; she'd be happy to see what ThunderClan's territory was generally like, along with WindClan. _All I need to do now is find a river. I'm sure we'll come across at least on the journey._

Flamepaw trotted cheerfully towards the trees, feeling her paws slip curiously into what felt like a well-worn track. _Of course— others have passed this way._ She gave a half shiver, thinking of all the cats like her from the past year who had waked this path, unaware that they would never return.

The route was sandy and dry, completely different from the normal smooth, wet peat of ShadowClan territory. Maplepool must have hated walking through the swamp last night; it was an acquired taste, the feel of mud under your paws.

The wind was persistently grooming her fur, and seemed to walk with her as she made her way across the field. Flamepaw walked slowly, relishing in her surroundings, musing on memories of not-so-long-ago that felt like _very_ long ago.

 _"There's no time to give you your name,"_ Darkstar had whispered to her just one night ago. _"I'm sorry."_

 _I'll carry_ this _name with pride and prove that I'm worthy of being sent to the Moon Tunnels before coming of age,_ Flamepaw had thought, but not spoken, only sitting up a little straighter to prevent any disappointed slump from appearing in her shoulders. A name was just a name, after all; she'd been interested in what Darkstar might have chosen to name her, but she would receive her true name from StarClan in the end.

She didn't really think she needed to prove anything to anyone, actually; the Clans had accepted her well enough, distracted by Perchstar's anger and the halved number of cats from ThunderClan and WindClan.

A few more minutes, a few more recollections of Darkstar's voice and the scent of her Clanmates and the pinecones on the training set, and Flamepaw arrived at the edge of the trees. She glanced quickly back at her group, now distant bits of color in the background, and upon confirming that they were still sleeping, took off into the forest.

Dead, brown leaves scattered the ground, dry and crackly. As she stepped on them, first on purpose, then by accident, she wondered what it was like in ThunderClan during leaf-fall. ShadowClan's few deciduous trees shed their leaves, yes, but it was noting compared to the vast assortment of trees in their neighboring Clan. Plus, all of their leaves sunk into the mud and absorbed the water, growing soft and wilted within a day of touching the ground.

 _Would I like to jump into a pile of leaves!_ She imagined gold-red-orange leaves, bright as fire in leaf-fall, and then envisioned a whole pile of the crunchy things.

A _coo-coo_ ing from above took Flamepaw by surprise. She looked up, scanning the treetops for the source of the sound that she'd heard all the way back in the field.

She saw nothing.

Flamepaw frowned, tasting the air. She could definitely catch dusty bird-scent off the wind, but she couldn't tell where it came from, until there was a flurry of movement and the culprit alighted onto the lower branch of a beech tree right in front of her. It was a mourning dove, its sleek brown-gray feathers matching the smooth bark of the tree.

She wasn't used to this kind of forest hunting. The only prey that could camouflage in the pine forest were frogs, so her eyes were accustomed to finding texture, not... whatever you were supposed to look for to locate a bird a in dense forest.

She could ask Stonefall later, or figure it out herself.

Right now, she had a bird to catch.

Flamepaw had not realized how hungry she was until there was prey right in front of her nose, but now the hunger clawed at her belly. She debated on whether or not to bring it back to the others, but decided that the warrior code only talked about feeding her own Clan and there was probably plenty more food in the forest that they could catch themselves once they woke up.

She felt a flicker of doubt as the dove stared at her. What kind of prey didn't run upon seeing a cat?

 _Easy to catch ones, that's what._

She fell into an easy hunter's crouch, then and there, in full view of the bird. It would be better to do it this way than sneak up from behind; the bird would fly right into her claws.

 _One... two..._

Flamepaw sprang.

Before she'd even lifted off the ground, the bird had spread its wings and zipped away, the trill of air from its wings alerting every single creature in hearing proximity and laughing at her.

 _Toadstools and tadpoles!_ Flamepaw cursed as she slammed into the low hanging branch, her claws still outstretched. She'd aimed perfectly well —shame on her if she hadn't— but had failed to factor in the fact that the bird could see movement as well as she did, and it had read her intentions in the tensin of her muscles and the ripple of her pelt.

 _I should really head back._ Unfortunately, the apprentice was still brimming with energy, and she didn't think anyone would appreciate it if she spent that unused energy on waking them up with more vigor than necessary.

So, she went onwards.

Flamepaw stuck mostly north, unwilling to stray too far to the other sides of the forest. The foliage and trees were getting sparser and sparser, until she could see a strange sight in front of her.

The forest ended abruptly, leading to a clearing where all the soil had been overturned and piled up into giant hills. A great monster slept in the middle of it, much larger than even the biggest Flamepaw had ever seen crossing the Thunderpath. It was the color of marigold, but had none of the softness that the said flower possessed; it was all sharp edges and unnaturally shiny-smooth skin.

 _Flatten your fur,_ she told herself, _monsters don't wake up unless there's Twolegs around._ Despite this knowledge, she found herself dashing to safety fast as a hare, and she only breathed again when she was safely across the brown, soil clearing.

The dirt she'd crossed felt unnaturally dusty beneath her paws, as if something had ground it to tiny, tiny bits. _Horrible,_ she thought, coughing, and moved on.

If the quiet clearing with the foreboding monster had seemed dangerous, what Flamepaw walked into was infinitely more so.

 _Twolegplace!_

Any remaining memory of the calm forest, the teasing wind, the gentle scents, the sweet birdsong, they were all gone, chased away by this barrage of new, horrible things. This entire world hustled and bustled, never at rest; the speeding monsters whooshed down the Thunderpath, spraying grit and puffing smoke and creating an unnatural kind of wind that nearly blew Flamepaw over. The smell of the atmosphere was overwhelming, with a thousand different nameless scents, all terrible in their own unique way. It was hard to breathe, and her blue-gray flanks heaved. Some monsters blared loud noises as they passed, and these tended to go the fastest; odd Twoleg noises and chatter were everywhere; a dog barked—

 _A dog._

 _Barked._

 _And it wasn't far away, it was..._

Flamepaw whipped arround.

Barreling towards her was a giant dog, its mouth open, slavering, with drool hanging off its sharp yellow teeth. Flamepaw didn't know what it looked like, didn't stop to process such a detail, before sprinting in the opposite direction.

 _West,_ she tried to remember, _I'm running west and I can just climb up a tree and when it gives up I'll go east, then south, to make it back. Should've gone back when I hit the edge of the forest. Why didn't I?_ She couldn't recall anymore. Now she couldn't go back, not until she lost this dog; she couldn't lead it back to the rest of her group!

Her heart was pounding in her ears. She had not stopped to look closely at the dog, but the image of its wide jaws was seared into her mind.

 _I've run through ShadowClan's training set more times than there are stars in the sky._ She suddenly remembered Darkstar's words to her, once: "You have good stamina." Why was she remembering that now? She was fast, she'd won the race last night...

But the strange environment of Twolegplace, along with the chilling image of those huge teeth, made despair quickly set in as she ran on the rough stone that was not meant for cat paws from the giant dog that was bigger than many cats combined in the rough Twolegplace that was not meant for cats one bit.

 _I'm going to die here, before I even make it to the real challenge._

 _I'm going to die by the jaws of that dog._


	9. Descend

**Chapter Nine**

Stonefall thought he was the first to wake up.

This belief remained for exactly six seconds after he had shaken the groggy remnants of sleep from his head, remembered where he was —which was not ThunderClan's apprentice den, that was for sure— and gathered enough of his wits to do a head count.

Three seconds was the time it took for him to count three cats.

Three more seconds was the time it took for him to realize one was missing.

 _Where's Flamepaw?_

In the fresh daytime air, so incredibly different from the gloom of last night, it was as if she hadn't existed at all— as if the only cats going to the Moon Tunnels were him, Cloudtuft, Maplepool, Grassfur, because all their pelts were illuminated by the sun and he'd never seen hers under its golden rays and he only knew the Flamepaw who led them through the deep, dark blue night, Flamepaw of ShadowClan with shadows on her pelt, not Flamepaw under the morning light.

It wasn't very much morning, actually; Stonefall saw that the sun was reaching its highest point in the sky— sunhigh, but not quite. Any white clouds or morning dew were long gone; the sun was sharp and hot, the sky clear and blue.

But Flamepaw _had to_ have existed because he vividly remembered their trek through ShadowClan territory. Grassfur had been criticizing her, and Stonefall had been bearing it, until he thought he could _feel_ the she-cat's mingled annoyance and pain, and he'd had to interject.

Actually, he recalled, he'd attempted to interject and failed several times before he couldn't hide that he'd wanted to say something, and Grassfur had essentially forced him to spit it out.

 _Quit that,_ the gray tabby scolded himself. _You idiot. Flamepaw is missing and she could be anywhere. You have to find her._

 _What, alone?_

He couldn't just up and disappear. The others would wake up soon, and finding two of their group members missing... that was even worse than finding Flamepaw missing. Unless none of them liked him. Then it would help a little.

 _Focus!_

Stonefall inhaled. All the cats smelled like ferns and swamp muck from last night's scent disguising, but those scents, while less prominent than cat-scent due to being more natural, were still not field-scents. If he could just find the trail...

 _First,_ he told himself firmly, _I need to wake up the others._

"Psst," he said, then slapped himself in the face with his tail. This was a wake-up call, not a spy mission.

"Hey, guys," he tried. "Guys! Wake up!" No response. Cloudtuft shifted, scooting unconciously closer to Maplepool. Grassfur's pelt was spiked, but Stonefall was pretty sure it was always like that, even in his sleep.

"Flamepaw's missing and I'm going to find her!"

He thought this was loud enough, but it didn't have a single effect on anything, not the sleeping cats or any other living things around. Stonefall thought he would appreciate a bird flying away or seomthing, at least to prove that he'd been heard.

"You need to wake up," he announced, padding closer to his group. He stopped right in front of Grassfur. "I really suggest it."

Still it seemed that he did not speak loudly enough, so Stonefall went to his last resort: he shoved at Grassfur's flank with his front paws and braced himself.

The russet tom was up in a flash, hissing and spitting like they were surrounded by invaders on all sides.

"Holy StarClan, calm down," Stonefall protested. It came out as more of a squeak than a meow and he winced inwardly. The RiverClan tom's narrowed golden eyes turned to him.

"Stonefall? What in the name of StarClan?"

Twice had their ancestors been used in an oath today, and Stonefall had just barely woken up. He wondered what the day would bring. "Everyone needs to wake up."

"...why didn't you wake them?" He didn't sound like the mean, stubborn Grassfur who had forced them all to keep walking until they were about to collapse from last night. He sounded ready for business, slightly puzzled, all-around much milder than Stonefall had expected.

"I tried?" he offered weakly.

The other cat snorted, a strangely comforting sound in its familiarity. "I'll do it." He turned to look at the other cats, then froze. "Where's Flamepaw?"

"See, thaaaaat's why everyone needsta wake up," Stonefall said, vaguely aware of his voice speeding up. "She's disappeared."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S DISAPPEARED?!" roared Grassfur, so loudly that the gray tabby thought that StarClan themselves could hear, and Silverpelt wasn't even out. He flinched as the russet tom lashed his tail and saw that the words had successfuly roused the other two cats. Maplepool had jerked awake and scrambled to her paws, Cloudtuft following more slowly and giving off the impression that he was quite used to having big Grassfur outbursts as his wake-up calls.

"Who's disappeared now?" the white tom asked sleepily, looking around.

"Flamepaw!" Maplepool was instantly alert, her amber eyes sharpening as they saw —or, rather, didn't see— the missing apprentice.

"Maybe this whole thing was just a ploy by ShadowClan," Grassfur snarled, looking like a mad dog as he paced and continued to lash his tail wildly. His spiked fur was bushed up even more than usual, and Stonefall saw the gleam of unsheathed claws as he walked back and forth. "Who gathered us up? Flamepaw of ShadowClan! Who sent us off? Darkstar! They might have wanted get rid of all of us so the other Clans die out, and ShadowClan will reign supreme. She's probably gone back home, the thorns-cursed fox, and—"

"Stop being ridiculous," Cloudtuft snapped at his brother, and Stonefall remembered that they all had varying degrees of anger at Grassfur for the events of last night. He remembered Dawnheart's ignoring him with a pang, and wondered how both littermates could stand to growl at each other.

"She could have been taken by a hawk," the mottled she-cat fretted.

"A hawk, at night, grabbing an apprentice?" Grassfur challenged. "As far as I know, they only take kits."

"Flamepaw's small, but not that small," Cloudtuft agreed mildly.

The air was abound with the three's arguing.

Stonefall closed his eyes briefly.

 _If she was taken by a hawk, there would be no scent trail, and to be honest, I haven't found one yet. But why would a hawk be nocturnal, not to mention risk getting close to five cats? And why wasn't there any sign of a struggle? Flamepaw would go hissing and spitting at the very-very-very least, but it's more likely that she'd just take down the hawk. Like Cloudtuft said, she's not that small. Almost my height as far as I can tell._

 _Grassfur's hypothesis is just stupid. I'm not wasting time on that. Darkstar wouldn't do that; no cat would._

 _The most likely explanation would be that Flamepaw woke up before us and went exploring, but why wouldn't she wake us up? It would be foolish to wander a strange field alone, and she could easily get lost._ Then again, he had to admit that if anyone of them could handle things alone, it would probably be Flamepaw. There was something about the way she moved, the way she carried herself, that gave off a kind of _I am strong_ aura. A _don't mess with me because I can do it better_ aura, but not the threatening kind, just...

He didn't know where his thoughts were going; he was giving himself a headache.

She was everything he wanted to be.

Stonefall herded his thinking back to the more important details.

 _Maybe she was hungry._ He, personally, hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon, which was a long time ago. The ThunderClan cat didn't know why he didn't feel hungry —could be that his body had pushed it aside in favor of the crisis at paw— but she might have. _If she'd just left, it would be easier to find a fresh scent path. It must have been longer ago, but why would hunting take so long?_ The fields weren't ShadowClan territory, sure, but it should be fairly easy to catch one of the birds, which he noticed were singing incessantly from every which way.

He pressed his nose to the ground, inhaling deeply, eyes still closed.

"We should just leave her," he heard Grassfur say. "We're just heading north. If she really did want to go with us, she could catch up eventually regardless of where she is."

"But what if she's in trouble?" Maplepool protested. In the silence that followed, Stonefall could almost envision the withering look that Grassfur gave her. The latter seemed to have something against the WindClan cat— was it how close she was to Cloudtuft?

Stonefall flattened his ears, blocking out sound as well as sight. He tasted the air again, his remaining senses sharpened by the loss of two.

 _Ferns. Ferns and pine trees and swamp muck and maybe a reminiscent bit of ShadowClan._

 _Dawnheart was the better tracker, but ThunderClan is the best of all the Clans._

He padded forward, nose still to the ground, making sure to stay a safe distance away from the bickering cats. He didn't want to accidentally bump into one of them and look like an idiot with his eyes squeezed shut and his ears against his skull.

He inhaled the stale scent of precisely what he was looking for, the sharp odor pine and fern. He followed it and realized that it was a trail of scent, leading... somewhere. Stonefall froze, his heart skipping a beat.

 _Did I actually?_

He opened his eyes. He saw a forest ahead of him, on the horizon, an oak forest a little like ThunderClan's. He pricked his ears and heard that the others were somewhere behind him.

 _I found the scent!_

 _I did it!_

Strangely enough, his family popped into his mind. _I wonder how quickly Dawnheart could do this. I wonder if Brightpetal and Thrushfeather would be proud of me._ He remembered his father's gray head, bowed low, unwilling to meet either his of Dawnheart's eyes. Had it been an admission of guilt, then?

 _Stop dwelling on it. Find Flamepaw._

 _Should I tell the others?_

It seemed easier and much more tempting to go off on his own.

He hadn't been able to even wake them up; would they even hear him with how deeply they were arguing over what to do? Would they even find the scent trail, not being ThunderClan born, and if they couldn't, would he be able to lead them? The answer to all these questions seemed to be "no".

 _I don't want these squabbling cats to hold me back._

 _I'll grab Flamepaw and be back soon,_ he thought hopefully, his level of optimism raised by his success at finding the scent trail. _Then... I'll be a hero._

That was it, the real reason why he wanted to go alone.

 _ThunderClan cats are the best trackers._

 _I_ will _find her._

...

The forest was warm, welcoming, and very briefly so.

Stonefall had followed the trail into the forest, then broken into a run. It seemed like Flamepaw had been heading mostly in one straight direction. _Is it north?_ He'd expected to find her somewhere in the forest, just hunting or exploring, but she seemed to have just headed one way.

 _She wouldn't go on without us, would she?_ Just a little while ago, he had deemed it foolish for a cat to go off alone, and then he had become a hypocrite. He could understand leaving now. _Maybe she was tired of all the arguing._

Past the forest he went, too deeply focused on the scent trail to notice what would have otherwise scared him out of his wits: a marigold-colored monster, towering over him and blocking out the sun.

He seemed to be going at a generally faster pace than Flamepaw was, because the scent grew fresher as he went. Stonefall trotted hurriedly past the dusty brown clearing and froze as his paws landed on rough gray stone.

Past the clearing was Twolegplace.

Eyes wide, he scanned the area. Flamepaw's scent seemed to have grown sharper, tinged with fear. _Well, of course she'd have fear-scent; this place is horrible._ The trail turned abruptly to the right, and Stonefall followed, feeling his unease increase with every step. The fear-scent was stronger and stronger the further he went.

Dread and an all-around feeling of malaise wormed its way through Stonefall's mind. _I should have called the others. What was Flamepaw thinking? She should have gone straight back._

 _...something must have scared her away._

Stonefall inhaled sharply at the realization, then choked on the rank, heady air of Twolegplace. His heart caught in his throat as he realized there was a new scent on the trail.

 _Dog._

Now, Stonefall was pretty sure he was adding his own fear-scent to the mix as he ran along the strange gray path. He only paused once, when the metallic tang of blood hit his nose and he stared at the path to see that dried droplets of brown dotted the rough stone. He felt sick to his stomach and raced on, pushing himself to go faster. _What am I going to find at the end...?_

The kind of fear he felt at this moment was worse and more intense than anything he'd ever felt before. He felt like he was swaying on his paws; he wanted to vomit, to cry out, to do a thousand different things that might contradict themselves; mostly, though, he wanted to find the dog and tear its flea-ridden pelt to pieces. He wanted to make sure Flamepaw was okay and he knew she wasn't because there was blood and fear and blood and fear, pooling together at the edge of the path just up ahead...

 _Just up ahead!_

The stone path ended and there, at the edge of it, was a huge, brutish specimen of a dog. It was a brindled dog, red and orange and black, but Stonefall had only one desire, and it wasn't sitting back and seeing what it looked like. The dog barked and howled, pawing at a small tree, ramming its muscled body into the trunk and making the whole thing shade with its weight.

"Flamepaw!" the gray tabby yowled, and there was a responding meow from the tree.

" _Stonefall?_ " There was disbelief in the familiar mew.

 _She's alive, she's alive, she's alive,_ Stonefall's heart sang, although he hadn't been aware that he was worried she _wasn't_ until this moment.

At the same time, the dog whipped its head arounds, ears flapping. Its eyes alighted as it saw easy, not-in-a-tree prey.

The dog was strong and it had a wolfish look of delight in its black eyes, but Stonefall was _faster_ , and he used that to his advantage, clambering quickly up the tree. He was no WindClan cat, and he wasn't the best ThunderClan cat, but he could climb. His predator snarled in frustration, slamming its head into the tree again, which rocked eerily back and forth.

Flamepaw was sprawled out on a branch, hanging on for dear life, and now that he was up with her he could see why she was stuck up here: there was a gash running painfully down her flank. It had clotted but still steadily dripped blood, diriving the dog mad. They had to get her out of here and grab cobwebs, marigold, anything that could stop the bleeding.

"Flamepaw..." he said her name again and trailed off, unsure of what to say next. Then, he blurted out:

"You mouse-brain!"

At the same time, she hissed at him, "Frog-brain!"

They stared at each other for half a beat before she broke into a laugh, shoving her muzzle into her front paws to quell her giggles. "I'm a mouse-brain, sure, absolutely. But so are you. Stonefall, what in the world are you doing here?"

"Er," he said, digging his claws into his branch as the dog pounded against the tree, "finding you?"

"Where are the others? You're not injured! Run back and get them. Backup helps."

For a moment, he'd thought she was going to say some idiotic noble sacrificial thing about leaving her there and going on. Flamepaw, however, was not that type of idiot— another thing he liked about her.

"You'd bleed out before I got back," Stonefall said, "and I'm not fast like you. I can't outrun a dog."

"Stonefall," she mewed, eyes softening. "You made it here. Believe in yourself."

It sounded like something Darkstar would say, really. Stonefall grimaced and looked at his options.

 _One, like Flamepaw said, run back and get help. I don't know if I could do it, and it would lead the dog straight to the group —I'm pretty sure that's why Flamepaw ran this way instead of back in the first place— and she's still bleeding, she needs help as soon as possible._

 _Two, wait it out here. Not a good chance of success; the dog didn't seem close to giving up when I arrived, and with the prize of two cats instead of one, it'll stay for even longer. Flamepaw doesn't have that kind of time._

 _Three... attack the dog. Unlike Flamepaw, I'm willing to be a self-sacrificial idiot. If I win —as if— then that's great; if I lose, well, the dog will be satisfied, so Flamepaw can get down and get help. I'd rather be the one to do it, I don't know how far she can walk with that injury, but she can take care of herself._

The only thing he had to give up in the third option was his life.

He was okay with that, to save hers.

The gray tabby bunched up his muscles, ready to spring.

"What are you—" Flamepaw cut herself off, pale green eyes widening as she realized precisely what he intended to do. "No!"

It was too late.

 _I hope this saves you._

He leaped. The dog reared up, eyes alight with bloodlust. For a moment that felt like forever, he was going up, up, up above the dog, his claws unsheathed and ready to tear and fight like all of LionClan to his last breath. Then gravity took hold...

...and Stonefall fell.


	10. Showdown

**Chapter Ten**

 _We've got to hurry!_

Maplepool ran ahead of the two RiverClan toms, her paws colliding painfully with the rough stone path that they were racing down. She could smell fear-scent, mingled with the grassy fragrance that Stonefall —and possibly Flamepaw— had taken on due to their journey through the fields.

She didn't know how long the ThunderClanner had been gone.

Grassfur had been spouting paranoia over Flamepaw's disappearance, Cloudtuft had been trying to calm him down, and she had been hanging awkwardly by the edge, worried about the ShadowClan apprentice and unwilling to interfere in the brothers' spat. She had turned to ask Stonefall for his opinion, only to realize that the gray tabby was nowhere to be found.

The scent trail he'd left behind had been fresh, and the three cats followed it with only minimal grumbling from Grassfur. Through the forest they had walked, into and across the odd, empty clearing with the monster, then finally entering Twolegplace, where Stonefall's fear-scent had pooled like a stagnant pond, overpowering any other odor that might have hinted to a what the issue was.

Regardless, they knew that something was very wrong, and they'd made their way down the path, following the scent.

The fawn-and-ginger she-cat heard a commotion up ahead. She saw a small tree and two figures, one giant and black-striped, the other small in comparison and gray. Stonefall and... _something._

"We're here, what's going on?" she cried out in one breath, than skidded to a halt.

Just a few tail-lengths away from her was the most cruel-looking dog she'd ever seen in her life.

A little outside of WindClan territory, there were Twoleg barns, and the Clan went by there sometimes to collect sheep's wool to line their nests. Dogs lived on the barn, huge white things that looked like clouds, but they left you alone and only seemed to care about the sheep and chickens that belonged to their Twolegs. Maplepool had, therefore, seen dogs much bigger than the brindled one in front of her now.

But no barn dog had been as mad as this one.

She didn't stop to think; she launched herself at it.

"Maplepool!" A cry sounded from the tree— Flamepaw! "Thank the stars!"

Stonefall's eyes mirrored Flamepaw's gratefulness as he looked swiftly at her, then returned to fighting off the dog. In mere heartbeats, Cloudtuft and Grassfur had both joined in the battle, turning the tables in their favor. The dog recoiled but did not retreat, and opened its massive jaws in an enraged howl.

Maplepool's mind was alight with questions — _Why isn't Flamepaw fighting? How in the world did Stonefall manage on his own without getting his spine crushed by those giant teeth? Can four cats win against one big, angry dog?_ — but she pushed them aside in order to focus on the fight.

Stonefall was taking the brunt of the dog's power despite bearing the most wounds; he pummeled at its snout with a rage unlike the quiet tom's normal demeanor. The majority of his strikes met their mark; the dog's muzzle was covered in angry red scratches, and blood dripped from a cut above one of its eyes.

Cloudtuft was at its flank, aiming to knock it over, sinking his teeth through skin and flesh. The dog turned to him, leaving an opening for Stonefall to score his claws deftly and deeply across its cheek.

Grassfur was behind the dog, pulling at its tail, clawing his way up the brindled fur. Maplepool stared, then realized that he was trying to get the dog down from its standing position, so that it would be easier to overtake. The russet-pelted tom hissed as the dog bucked and flailed, kicking out its hind legs wildly, until its claws caught Grassfur's stomach and he was thrown off. Maplepool rushed to his side, pouncing squarely on the dog's back. Grassfur recovered, getting to his paws, and threw himself at it. The weight of both cats combined forced the dog to collapse.

She held on with unsheathed claws, biting through its shoulder and spitting blood. Stonefall ran his claws along the dog's flank, again and again so that the wound bled and seemed borderline mortal, until Cloudtuft whispered something in his ear and he stepped back.

By silent agreement, the four cats let the dog go, and it half-limped, half-ran away with its tail between its legs.

Cloudtuft spat after it. "Didn't even scratch me."

"Might be a little bruised, but that's all," Grassfur said, shaking his fur out. Maplepool felt a brief flash of camaraderie in the atmosphere, when all of them were brought together by their shared victory, but it didn't last for long. The russet cat scowled when he saw her looking at him, and she frowned as he turned his back to her. _What's his_ problem _with me?_

"Flamepaw..." Stonefall croaked, turning his head towards the tree. Maplepool followed his line of sight, seeing the RiverClan cats do the same from the corner of her eye.

Slowly, tentatively, a blue-gray shape made her way down the tree. She went tail-first, looking worriedly down at her hind legs, which dangled inches from the ground. Stonefall ran to help her down, and Maplepool sucked in a breath when the apprentice was safely on the ground. There was a gash on her right flank, the fur around it stained brown with dried blood.

"It's clotted all the way, don't worry," Flamepaw told Stonefall, who looked at her with concern sparking in his green gaze. "We're both idiots." The half smile in response from the gray tabby made Maplepool curious about what had passed between them before she and the others had arrived.

Flamepaw continued. "You should have just waited it out—" She broke off and turned to the others, her voice trembling. "If you hadn't come..."

"But we did," Cloudtuft rumbled. Maplepool blinked. The white tom had moved to stand right next to the fawn she-cat, and he addressed Flamepaw gently. "Don't worry about it. We've got to get that wound cleaned up before it gets infected. You should lick it."

Flamepaw blinked but complied.

Cloudtuft turned to Stonefall. "Do you know what happened?"

"Uh... my part of the story?"

Cloudtuft nodded; Stonefall briefly and rather unclearly explained that he had followed Flamepaw's scent trail and it ended at the tree with the dog trying to get to her.

"Why didn't you tell us that you found her scent trail?" Grassfur demanded.

The gray tabby shifted his paws, looking uncomfortable. "You were arguing," he supplied.

"So?"

Stonefall's mouth was clamped shut and he watched the russet tom with an unreadable expression.

"Maybe he didn't want your grumbling tail following him the whole way," Cloudtuft said helpfully, nudging his brother, who took two bounces away from the white tom. "Flamepaw, what's your side of the story?"

"Well, I woke up earlier than you lot, so I decided to go exploring. I was just going to hunt in the forest and come back, but I went looking for prey while trying to stay north and ended up in the clearing, which spooked me so much I ran into Twolegplace.

"So then I was about to turn tail and head right back, but that dog came barreling down the path and I just..." She seemed uncharacteristically shaken. "I ran down that gray path for a stretch, but it had nearly caught up with me, so I turned around and fought it. That's when it gave me this scratch, soooo I decided continuing to run was probably a better idea, and I tried to wait it out in the tree."

Grassfur looked as if he had many things he would very much like to say, but kept silent with a warning glance from Cloudtuft. "And that's where Stonefall ran into you, right?" the white tom pressed encouragingly.

She nodded. "Stonefall... climbed up the tree when the dog was about to go after him." Maplepool pricked her ears. The apprentice's speech was starting to sound a little slurred, muddled. "I told him he should go run to get you guys. He... he jumped down from the tree... landed square on the dog..." The blue-gray cat rocked from side to side, looking woozy.

"He fought it I thought hewuzgonnadie," Flamepaw said, speeding up at the end —Maplepool thought she should call it "pulling a Stonefall", really— and then she collapsed.

The said gray tabby was by her side in an instant, nosing at the unconscious apprentice.

"She's probably lost a lot of blood," Cloudtuft said soothingly. "She's only passed out. We'll have to find a place to stop until she can recover."

Grassfur looked about to protest, but Maplepool whirled on him.

"Don't you dare say a word!" she hissed at him and he glared at her, readying to retort, but she was faster. "If you haven't done what you did last night, none of this would have happened! We'd all wake up in the morning at normal times, and we'd have been on our way by sunrise!" This might have been an exaggeration, and she inwardly admitted that Flamepaw still might have woken up sooner, but she was absolutely sick of Grassfur's attitude.

He was quiet; he looked mutinous, but he was wonderfully quiet. The icy glare of his gold eyes would be enough to freeze her from ears to tail if looks could kill.

Heartbeats ticked past, and Maplepool found herself regretting the sharp words.

 _That shouldn't be me anymore. I thought I was over that._

 _That couldn't have happened._

 _I am not that cat, I am not that cat._

 _I am not that cat._

She looked at the russet tom almost fearfully. _What is it about you, Grassfur, that made me go—_

Her mind clamped shut on itself with an internal _clang_ that reverberated all through her body. The darkness disappeared.

"I think we should scout ahead," Cloudtuft said quickly, angling his ears toward Maplepool. "To find proper shelter for Flamepaw. Stonefall, Grassfur, you stay back and decide how we're going to get her there. She's too big to take by the scruff."

"Who died and made you leader?" Grassfur muttered, his gaze sliding to Flamepaw's unmoving form— Flamepaw, who had lead them for most of the journey so far.

"Let's go," the white tom said to Maplepool, urging her along. The fawn-and-ginger cat was happy to oblige, wanting nothing more than to get away from Grassfur and help the unconcious ShadowClan cat.

They headed back down the stone path, hurried but not running, both exhausted from the intense run _to_ the tree. It reminded her of how she and Bearclaw would trot back to camp after a race, knowing that the sun was about to set but too exhausted to go faster.

 _Bearclaw._

She hadn't much thought of her brother during the journey.

There had been an exchanging of family stories with Cloudtuft, yes —after the awkward revelation that the cat he'd seen her with at the border _was_ her littermate— but that had mostly been her listening, him talking. The dynamic between Cloudtuft and Grassfur was so different from that of herself and Bearclaw. Grassfur was easily angered, easy to offend, and yet Cloudtuft still sought to tease him, knowing full well that the russet tom held grudges. Bearclaw was the polar opposite of them both; he was not offended easily, nor was he ever the offender. _A good deputy,_ she thought.

Taking the time to think about her family made Maplepool wonder about what was happening back home.

 _We snuck away,_ she thought, the fact having been pushed to the back of her mind. _Hawkstar doesn't know where we went. Neither does anyone else, save for Bearclaw, who saw me go, and of course Darkstar, unless he told ShadowClan. What was the reaction? Did they realize we were gone at the Gathering, or after?_ With so many cats, it was probably easy to lose track of them.

 _Hawkstar... I don't know what he would think. Perchstar must be apoplectic._ She hoped everything was relatively okay.

"What are we looking for?" Maplepool asked Cloudtuft, snapping herself abruptly out of her thoughts. "There's not much shelter in Twolegplace."

"We won't know 'til we find it," Cloudtuft answered with a carefree shrug of his shoulders, his tail twitching as he walked. "Somewhere cozy and hidden. Really, though, I just thought you could do with some time away from Grassfur."

"I really could," she admitted, a little guiltily.

The white tom sighed. "He wasn't always this way. I mean, he was irritable, but not... not angry, like he is now. But then..." He shook his fluffy head. "It's not my place to tell you."

"I understand." Maplepool felt sympathy for the RiverClan cat, who had apparently had to watch his brother change and become a borderline terrible cat. She thought she could see flickers of the cat that Cloudtuft described, sometimes, if she tried.

 _Grassfur thanking Stonefall. Grassfur racing Flamepaw._

But then he looked at her with those eyes, those hate-filled golden eyes, and she only saw the Grassfur who detested her, Maplepool, with every last fiber of his being. She didn't know why, but she got the distinct impression that she was at the very top of Grassfur's list of hated cats.

 _I'll confront him,_ she vowed. _Soon._

 _First, we need to find shelter for Flamepaw._

Twolegplace was hot, hotter than any leaf-bare day should be. The sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky, making Maplepool narrow her eyes against the intense light; its rays beat down heavily, sending flashes of heat through her body as it fought ti keep her at a cooler temperature. _It must be even worse for Cloudtuft_ , she thought with sympathy, looking at the long-furred tom; his white pelt might reflect the light, but its thickness certainly wouldn't help. The rough ground scraped at her pads as grit clung to them. It was a strange sensation, borderline annoying; Maplepool was used to having dirty paws, but the fine, dusty sand of WindClan's moors was worlds different from these star-cursed bits of gravel.

Cloudtuft had stopped walking, and she got a few pawsteps ahead in the heartbeats it took her to notice. He was looking to the left, across the Thunderpath, to a green-filled space.

"There's undergrowth!" Maplepool exclaimed, scanning the clearing. Her paws were nearabout crying with relief. It was tree-filled and shrub-littered, with unnaturally neat grass and stone paths like the one they were on winding around it. As the cats watched, they saw a Twoleg come dashing down one of the paths, surprisingly fast on its two legs. In one of its paws, it carried a brightly colored rope that ended around the neck of a tiny dog, which ran with the Twoleg.

The cats exchanged glances as both Twoleg and dog disappeared from sight.

"It's risky," Cloudtuft noted, "but if we can hide before anything can find us, we'd be fine. The problem would be crossing the Thunderpath with Flamepaw, especially if she's still unconscious. Shall we check it out?"

Maplepool nodded. They both looked ar the Thunderpath, which monsters were rushing down in both directions. The mottled she-cat was intensely aware of her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Her pads felt clammy.

"Find a gap and run," Cloudtuft said.

Moments ticked by, feeling like little pieces of eternity.

Cloudtuft dashed through at small stretch of calm in the Thunderpath. A monster's bright eyes illuminated his pelt, and it rushed fast, blocking Maplepool's view so that she couldn't see him on the other side. There was no chance of her making it across any time soon. She cursed her reflexes, wishing she'd been fast enough to go with Cloudtuft.

She prepared herself to wait, and something came crashing down on the side of her head.

Reeling, Maplepool was unable to recover before she was flipped onto her back and she saw only blue sky and sun.

 _It's past sunhigh_ was the last thing she thought.

And last thing she saw was a figure standing above her, bringing its paw upwards to strike her again. Her vision blurred. It was a cat... a gray cat shining in the sun, a tabby cat... with blue eyes.

Those blue eyes stared into her own for the swiftest of seconds, and then all was black.


	11. And It Was

**Chapter Eleven**

"What is it with these cats and disappearing?"

Grassfur's outraged question went unnoticed by the others.

Flamepaw was still unconscious. Stonefall was preoccupied.

And Cloudtuft was the one preoccupying him.

"You have to find her!" the white tom meowed frantically. _Twolegplace would be the worst place for a cat to get lost!_ he thought. _Anything could have happened to her!_ He reared up on his hind legs and placed his front paws on Stonefall's shoulders, shaking him. He needed the best nose of the group to find Maplepool. "Stonefall! Move!"

If he had been less panicked, he would have seen that Stonefall was just as worried as he was, half for Maplepool but also half for Flamepaw, would was currently unable to partake in a full search of Twolegplace where time was the enemy. Luckily, his concern overweighed his usual "don't talk" instincts, and the gray tabby explained his hesitation.

"Then I'll carry her!" cried Cloudtuft, dashing over to the blue-gray cat and ducking his head under her limp body so that she could slide onto his shoulders. The eleven-moon-old was heavy, and he buckled under the weight.

A rough, warm pelt pressed against his own, and Flamepaw's weight was partially lifted off of him.

 _Grassfur._

"We're carrying her," the russet tom said gruffly, addressing Stonefall. "Go on."

The gray tom blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes before it was quickly replaced by determination. He opened his jaws, inhaling, and dashed down the stone path.

"Go without us," Cloudtuft called, "we'll be slower, but finding Maplepool is the most important thing."

Next to him, Grassfur twitched, but the white tom ignored his brother, focusing on the current task. Flamepaw was draped acroass their backs; if they wanted to move efficiently, they'd have to move like one cat.

"Keep your step in sync," he murmured to Grassfur as the russet tom made to follow the tabby.

So they went along at a pace that was slow for a normal cat and fast given the circumstances. Cloudtuft could see Stonefall's white-tipped tail in the distance and he tried to move a little faster, unsuccessfully.

The brothers caught up to Stonefall when the gray tabby had stopped, circling the spot where Cloudtuft had last seen Maplepool, where the strange green clearing was a little ways away. _He does have a good nose,_ the white tom thought, impressed, but also worried. Why wasn't he going on? He waited five seconds. When it was clear that Stonefall had seen them —he'd looked up and gone back to sniffing the ground— Cloudtuft cleared his throat.

Stonefall stopped, the realization that he hadn't told them anything dawning in his eyes. He looked sheepish as he said, quietly, "There's a second scent."

Alarm shot through Cloudtuft. "What do you mean?"

"Another cat, and it's the same str— er, age as Maplepool's. You don't think...?"

"Why aren't you _following the scents?_ " the white tom cried, his panic rising.

"It's everywhere! The path zigzags here and backtracks there and it's like a trained warrior is covering his tracks when he doesn't have the time to roll in something." Stonefall's voice got higher and his words grew faster, per the usual, as the sentence went on.

"Are you suggesting she was kidnapped by a professional?" Grassfur asked, a mild tone to his usually sharp voice. He sounded slightly curious, not very concerned, a little amused. Cloudtuft wondered why it was _now_ , of all times, that his brother chose to see things in a humorous light. _How could he?_

Stonefall nodded vigorously, missing the near sarcasm. "Professional kidnapper. The scents are all muddled up," he murmured to himself, launching into a string of quiet words, more thoughts than dialogue, that Cloudtuft could not hear.

"Now what are we going to do?" he meowed. If even Stonefall's nose failed them, how in the world would they be able to find Maplepool? He felt his back starting to ache and quickly said so to Grassfur; gently, they managed to Flamepaw down onto the stone path. Her wound looked like a mess; she hadn't gotten through grooming it before telling them her story and blacking out.

 _We need to find her herbs, too... oh, if only I could remember which one stops infection..._

Stonefall was having no luck. He would go one direction, his nose pressed to the ground like a dog, then make several turns until he ended up back where he started with a bemused expression on his face.

Grassfur lifted his muzzle to the blue sky. "When did you last see her again?"

"Just here. I ran across the Thunderpath to check out that clearing over there—" he flicked his tail in that direction "—and when I turned around, she was gone."

His brother looked thoughtful. The russet tom seemed almost _peaceful_ with Maplepool gone, more agreeable and possibly even friendly, if you squinted. Cloudtuft shook his head. He must be imagining things; what would the fawn-and-ginger she-cat have to do with it? He had half a mind to ask, but decided not to.

It hadn't yet been a full day since the group had left, but it felt like their past lives in the Clans were much further away. Cloudtuft knew Stonefall, Flamepaw, and Maplepool better than he even knew Perchstar, and he'd grown up with the latter as his leader. It was kind of incredible, really, if he thought about it.

There was no time to think about it, though, because one of his group members —his closest acquaintance, as he thought "friend" was too hopeful a label for a cat he'd just met— was missing and he needed to find her.

 _Come on, Cloudtuft, think. If shy, quiet Stonefall could rescue Flamepaw and essentially tear up a giant dog for her, you can do this for Maplepool._

 _What do I do? What_ can _I do?_

Twolegplace was huge. If he could narrow it down...

 _He said she was kidnapped. By a cat. So we have to look for cats —not kittypets, they wouldn't be "professional" enough— and figure out where all the loners and rogues here hang out._

 _Not out in the open... maybe in the clearing?_

"I think I've got something," Cloudtuft said, louder than normal, and the other two toms looked at him with interest. They, however, were not the only ones.

"What are we gettin'?" mumbled a weak voice. All three cats spun around.

Flamepaw was awakening and stumbling to her paws, a _where am I?_ expression on her face.

Cloudtuft was startled to see how relieved everyone looked; he wasn't sure if he was more surprised at himself, because he felt a warm glow of happiness rising in his chest, or at Grassfur, who managed to look grumpy and happy at the same time. Stonefall's delight was the least unexpected, though. The white tom had seen the tabby's anger over Flamepaw through his unrelenting claws as he struck the dog over and over again, the way he'd been about to tear it to shreds, only stopping when Cloudtuft whispered in his ears.

 _Of all the cats, he's rightly the happiest to see Flamepaw awake... but of all the cats, strange that he'd be the one to have lost himself._

Briefly, he wondered _why_ Stonefall liked the ShadowClan apprentice so much. She was the complete opposite of him, a bouncing ball of energy and sharp comebacks, when he was a quiet puddle of a cat.

"We're getting Maplepool back," Cloudtuft meowed, realizing that Flamepaw's question was going unanswered. The she-cat's pale eyes widened, and he promptly filled her in on all the events that had happened since her loss of consciousness, skipping over how they'd managed to transport her with them due to the threatening look that Grassfur shot him.

"She got kidnapped... because she was trying to help _me_ ," Flamepaw said, but he heard no guilt in her words, only bright determination. "Ha! The wind's turned; let's go help her!"

She spun around in a circle, tail raised high, then added, "...how exactly are we going to rescue Maplepool? I think you missed that part."

"I mean, I was about to say how before you dramatically decided to wake up," Cloudtuft joked, but he didn't think he had quite the correct amount of lightness in his tone. The younger cat was good at raising everyone's spirits, but Maplepool was still missing. He needed to find her first before he could consider himself happy. "I was thinking we should look for places that cats might hide in... like that clearing over there." He tilted his head in the direction across the Thunderpath.

Flamepaw blinked and turned her head. "Worth a shot. We don't have any other leads, do we?"

From his peripheral vision, Cloudtuft saw Stonefall silently shake his head, but Flamepaw's gaze was fixed on the Thunderpath and she didn't notice. He siged inwardly. _Stonefall, you've gotta open your mouth and talk._

"We don't," the white tom agreed. "Are you in shape to run?"

"Don't have much choice, do I?"

All four cats readied themselves to dask across the path. Cloudtuft told himself to be the last to go. _Don't let there be another Maplepool. Protect them._

The familiar wait, the familiar break in the path of the monsters, the familiar dash across the dark, gritty ground. The Thunderpath was rougher than the stone path and his paws hurt every time they slammed down on it. His ears roared; frantically, he scrambled to the short grass on the other side, not a moment too soon; wildly fast wind whipped past his tail as a monster tore past the spot he'd been in just heartbeats ago.

"StarClan, Cloudtuft, that was a close one," Grassfur said between pants. The russet tom's flanks heaved as he laid on the cool ground.

Cloudtuft grimaced. "I know."

They'd all made it safely across. Stonefall was shaking himself, fur bushed out, and Flamepaw was licking at her flank. Cloudtuft saw the former watching the latter with concern, sighed, and decided to help him out. "Is it okay?" he asked the ShadowClan cat.

"Stings like fury," she said, "but there's nothing I can do about it."

"There will be," he assured her, then turned to Stonefall. "How's their scents now?" He had forgotten to scent the "kidnapper"'s trail back there, and he didn't know what he should look for now. He had to rely on the ThunderClan cat.

"Still muddled. The kidnapper was definitely around here, but... he couldn't gotten her across the Thunderpath?" The end of the setence tilted up into a question.

"Maybe he came from this side," Cloudtuft mused. "Let's search the place, anyway, seeing as we're all here."

The cats stuck close together as they scoured the green clearing. Stonefall tended to stray from them, pouncing forward to sniff at a shrub or bush every so often before shaking his head. Cloudtuft couldn't smell a thing other than the odd scent of cut grass mingled with old traces of dog.

"What are you looking for?" Grassfur demanded a little sharply, voicing Cloudtuft's thoughts. "There's no cat scent at the places you're sniffing, and I can smell the stranger as well as you can."

"Was looking for herbs," the gray tabby mumbled, shooting a lightning-fast glance at Flamepaw.

"You won't find anything here," growled the russet tom: angry, but not at Stonefall. "It's tarnished with the mark of Twolegs. They don't grow anything but grass, trees, and the occasional catmint— all of which are useless to us, seeing as no one has greencough."

" _I_ think it was worth a shot," Flamepaw interjected, defensive.

Cloudtuft blinked. He felt that some sort of dynamic in the group had begun to shift, but couldn't place his paw on it exactly what. His normally analytical mind was more focused on the issue of Maplepool's kidnapping than anything else. At the moment, the white tom couldn't even tell what the his brother was thinking as he turned his head spiky from Flamepaw without a retort and continued moving.

"I don't think we're going to find anything here," he meowed, when they had searched a good part of the clearing.

"Have you got a plan B?" Flamepaw's mew was worried.

"No."

It was after sun-high, with only a few precious hours of sunlight before dusk, when sunset would come and night would sweep in after it. The breeze was blowing gently across the clearing, ruffling their pelts and making the grass sway, but not strong enough to move the branches of the trees that dotted the area.

"Right, so that means plan B is 'search all of Twolegplace.' Gotcha."

A beat of what should have been silence was filled with the rustling of leaves and the soft _thump_ of paws hitting the grassy ground.

Stonefall, who was facing the direction of the noise, opened his maw, inhaling to say something to the others.

"That won't be necessary," said a deep, unfamiliar voice.

The four cats moved as one; the three who hadn't seen the source of the voice whirled around, and they all bunched closer together. Cloudtuft felt Grassfur's pelr brush his own and felt a strange wave of elation. _This is my group... we take care of each other._

A cat was standing in front of them.

He was a tabby like Stonefall, but his pelt was more lustrous and longer, so much that he was more silver than gray, and his eyes were a jarring sky blue. The tom looked older than then, but still young; perhaps he had lived for two or three years. Around his neck was a blue collar, darker than his eyes, that had a circle of shiny gold hanging from it.

 _Kittypet!_

"I have your friend," he mewed, shaking leaves off his pelt. It seemed that he had jumped down from a tree.

Cloudtuft was on him in an instant —metaphorically, with questions instead of claws— although he quite wished it were literal. "Why? Where? What?" He arched his back, spitting threateningly, sending threats, demands, and accusations at the tom, faster than a flurry of panicked birds. _Who is this tom? What's he done with Maplepool, and why? What's he trying to do now?_ "Kidnapper! Take us to her! I'll shred you if you don't—"

"Calm down," the silver cat said serenely, unafraid in the face of Cloudtuft's fury, sitting down and curling his bushy tail around his paws. "I _am_ taking you to her. Follow me."

"How likely is it that you're leading us into a trap?" Grassfur countered, matching the cat's calm. Though he was nearly frantic with worry and rage, Cloudtuft could see the irony in the situation: his usually touchy brother was being the reasonable one, and he was being the angry one. He laughed out loud, causing Stonefall and the kittypet to wear twin faces of alarm. Flamepaw, however, saw the humor in the situation, and he saw her desperately trying to bite back a laugh of her own.

"No chance." The silver tom hesitated, seeing the disbelieving faces surrounding him, and gave a long-suffering sigh.

"I wouldn't hurt cats of my own kind."

Uncomprehending, Cloudtuft looked to his teammates for help, but they all seemed to be equally confused.

The stranger got back to his paws and began circling them, his fur smoothed and tail held in a nonthreatening way. Still suspicious, but put slightly at ease by the show of sheathed claws, Cloudtuft remained silent.

"A little contradictory, really. The warrior code dictates that you _should_ hurt some of the cats, does it not?"

"Who are you?" Flamepaw asked. "Why do you speak of the—"

"The other Clans, that is. Which ones of you are truly _my_ cats? Is it you?" He turned his blue eyes to Stonefall, who looked like he was trying very hard not to shrink into his pelt. "The tracker? We're superior when it comes to scents, you and I. I'm very flattered at being called a professional, although you ought to call me a novice. This was my first time." A grin was slowly growing on his face, splitting his muzzle wide.

"You... ThunderClan." The gray tabby nearly choked on the words as he faced the silver. Cloudtuft pricked his ears. _ThunderClan?_

 _...this cat?_

 _It can't be._

"It's been a while since I've heard it spoken aloud. _ThunderClan_."

"How long?" Stonefall asked, nearly whispering. The gray tom had figured something out, Cloudtuft was sure of it, but very little of this made sense to him, and he didn't have the time to dwell on it. The kittypet was already continuing.

"Mmm, how about, say, a more than a year. Six seasons, yes, six seasons; I left in greenleaf. You've got it, haven't you?" he asked Stonefall, the feline grin on his face a little crooked, radiating delight. "I'm—"

"Mintpaw," said Stonefall.

"Nice to meet you."


	12. Brave

**Chapter Twelve**

Flamepaw thought she knew her Clan history well.

Although it wasn't the most practical thing to learn, Darkstar had included it in her curriculum for reasons unbeknownst to her. As a result, she was able to pride herself on knowing the most names and times of all the major cats and events in the history of not just ShadowClan, but all four Clans.

For example, she knew the names of all the apprentices who were first to never come back from the Moon Tunnels... six seasons ago.

One such name was Mintpaw of ThunderClan, the most well-known one —if such a famous cat existed— to not only his own Clan, but all four. He'd had skill, ambition, promise: the kind of cat Flamepaw had been raised to become. So when the cat in front of her called himself ThunderClan, and Stonefall named him as Mintpaw, Flamepaw was sure she'd learned all of the history wrong.

Mintpaw had _died,_ died with all the other apprentices in the past six seasons...

But here he was.

Was he really here?

 _Is he a liar? Was there some other cat named Mintpaw from ThunderClan who just up and left?_ Judging from Stonefall's face, that wasn't the case. _If it really is_ the _Mintpaw I'm thinking of, what in the name of StarClan is he doing here?_

"You— but—" The gray tabby was unable to form words as he stared at the silver tom. "Everyone said— everyone thought—"

"—that I died on my journey? That's probably for the best. If they knew that I lived, I'd be as good as dead to them anyway."

"You ran away? To become a kittypet?" Grassfur's voice was tinged with disbelief as he tried to work out the story in his head. Flamepaw studied him, then Cloudtuft, who looked equally unaware of the importance of this _particular_ cat having run away from the Clans. RiverClan probably didn't bother with history— to be fair, she wasn't sure why ShadowClan did.

"In a sense, I suppose so," Mintpaw said, unhelpfully. "Follow me and we can talk as I take you to the other cat from your group. I'm a little worried she'll wake up, escape, and get lost in Twolegplace."

" _You knocked her out?_ " Cloudtuft sounded outraged, his white pelt spikier than even his brother's as it bristled threateningly.

"...how else would I kidnap her?"

"Explain yourself, deserter —kidnapper— or so help me StarClan, I swear I'll—"

"Right. That's the first thing I'll explain, if you come with me." The silver tom's voice was a little testy, as if things weren't going the way he'd imagined them to, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Hey, it's four versus one," Flamepaw said. It was probably an unnecessary reminder, but it might soothe some pelts. "Best case scenario, we get Maplepool. Worst case, he gets shredded." She tilted her head at Mintpaw and unsheathed her claws, rubbing them against the cold ground in a show of _we can fight you if need be_.

"Four versus a _kittypet_ ," Grassfur added helpfully, the scorn in his voice withering enough to rot all the trees in the forest. Flamepaw might not be found of his distasteful manners, but it was a nice asset when he used it against an annoying stranger instead of someone in their group for a change: Mintpaw looked taken aback.

"Fine. Let's go."

With Cloudtuft's agreement and Stonefall's not-saying-anything-in-protest-so-he-was-probably-fine-with-it, the cats followed Mintpaw as he led them out of the clearing and began talking. Flamepaw found herself padding —walking, trying not to limp, slightly limping anyway— next to the gray tom, seeing with a twist of pain the numerous red marks that were scored across his body.

 _I shouldn't have run off like that. Where did all my training go? Of course there'd be danger, and Stonefall got hurt over my not thinking._

 _I mean, he's a frog-brain. He shouldn't have jumped._

 _I'm one too, though; mouse-brain, that's what he called me._ She recalled what they'd said to each other, what she'd said to him after — _we're both idiots—_ and how she'd made him grin just a little. It made her feel strangely happy, being the cause of one of the shy ThunderClan tom's rare smiles. Possibly the only one, really; had she ever seen one on his face before this?

She should have jumped down, should have fought the dog with him even if she died with it, but ShadowClan's beliefs of self-preservation ran deep in her blood, and he had shocked her into staying frozen to that tree branch with his words—

"Don't you dare come down, or I'll shred you myself," Stonefall had shouted over the dog's incessant barking, claws unsheathed and flanks heaving.

 _Stonefall._ Really. Him, threatening a shredding? It was something she might say, she or anyone else in the world _but_ Stonefall. It was a loving kind of humor, a warm irony that was the very opposite of him. She previously would not have thought the gray tabby to be a cat who made jokes —jokes while facing grave danger, no less— but she found she liked him all the more for it. In general, comedy was a pretty good way to handle things.

Still, she should have done something...

 _It's all done and over with now!_ There was only one way to go, and that way was forward. Guilt didn't help anyone; it couldn't get them back north, or heal Stonefall's wounds, or find Maplepool. _And I've learned a lesson, too, that basically boils down to "don't be a dummy."_

Mintpaw started to speak.

"Normally, I just watch as you all travel through Twolegplace to get to the Moon Tunnels. Never seen a group travelling back. I assumed that they found a better path for the return journey, but the groups grew sparser, the cats fewer, and when I saw there were only five of you, I really needed answers."

"You were spying on us, now?" Cloudtuft bristled.

"I was in the area," the silver tom said briefly, a little jauntily. "Saw that dog bleeding everywhere with its tail between its legs and went to investigate just as you were splitting up. Here's a tip: _never_ split up." His eyes darkened at the last sentence, his voice lowering and gaining a sharper edge. He was serious about it.

 _You're giving us 'tips' when you didn't make it past here?_

 _I mean, they're probably valuable, seeing was he_ was _a good apprentice. I don't know the full story yet._ Never _splitting up seems a little extreme, though._

"Anyway, I never interacted with any warrior until this group and I didn't particularly want to, understandably. The monologue I had back there was quite nice for a first time, wouldn't you agree?"

"Worst monologue I've ever heard," Grassfur said. "Absolutely awful."

Flamepaw made a small noise of agreement; it _hadn't_ been the best speechifying she'd heard in her life. Then again, she was very much accustomed to Darkstar's elegant words, and no one could match him.

"I'd like to see _you_ do better." Mintpaw looked injured. "Anyway, I was planning on just knocking that one out, stealing her real fast, swearing her to secrecy, and trading some information for information."

"What information could you possibly offer us?" asked Grassfur, sounding incredulous.

Mintpaw eyed Flamepaw. "Oh, say... how to best recover from what I assume is a great amount of blood loss? The location of marigold? I'm sure at least _he—_ " he flicked his tail at Stonefall"—knows I was one of the most capable apprentices in my time. _The_ most, possibly. I can still remember most major medicine cat information, along with plenty of my warrior training."

"Arrogant frog-head," she heard the russet tom mutter.

 _Not fair. Frogs are better; they've got prettier heads, and their croaks are comforting at night. Only comfort this one would give me is if he croaked in the euphemistic sense._

She didn't like this cat, the way he acted all superior when he should be the lowest of them all. Some brief lecture from Darkstar about accepting all kinds of cats, including those outside the Clans, flashed through Flamepaw's mind. Normally, she would agree, even in this situation with Mintpaw, but his holier-than-thou attitude was getting unsufferable.

 _I'm not against kittypets, just kittypets who are also full of themselves. That's not, ah, not okay, right?_

"In return," Mintpaw continued, "I wanted to know what's going on with the Clans; why are are the apprentice numbers dwindling? Why is there a trace of fear-scent on the pelt of every cat? Why do some of you have warrior names? Unfortunately, that didn't go quite to plan. I may have hit her a little hard, and also I realized _you_ guys would be looking for her all over Twolegplace, so I wouldn't be able return her after I got all all the information I wanted."

"As if she'd give it to you," Cloudtuft growled.

"If not her, how about... you?" Mintpaw offered a cheeky grin that quickly disappeared as he saw the rage smoldering throughout Cloudtuft's bristling body and unsheathed claws.

"Pfff. First, we'd need you to give us _your_ information," Flamepaw meowed, trying to be reasonable towards Mintpaw while simultaneously telling Cloudtuft without words that she didn't intend to offer any information.

"Don't trust you."

"Don't trust _you_ ," she retorted, and they were at a silent stalemate for the next few minutes. She used this time to fully take in her surroundings.

They were just leaving the strange clearing, which had been very soft and rather nice on the paws after a half day of rough stone paths. It had stale dog scent all over it, which was... not very nice, but there were no dogs in sight.

Now, unfortunately, they were back on the hard gray path, padding down a line of Twoleg nests. Flamepaw choked on the pungent scents. _I thought visiting Twolegplace would be nice, all rough and tough like the elders described it, but I could go for the rest of my life without ever walking into this awful place again._ Twolegs ruined a lot of things, from the air they breathed to the ground on which they walked. It wasn't the cool, proud kind of tough that most ShadowClan cats strived to be, but more like _tough to breathe properly,_ if it was tough at all.

"Why'd you leave?" Stonefall's quiet question took them all by surprise.

Flamepaw briefly wondered if Mintpaw's disappearance was at all correlated to the rest of them. Though it had been her intial thought, she was now disappointed, as he probably would not help them at all with the mystery of the mass disappearances. It was unlikely that he had anything to do with them; as if every single cat would run to Twolegplace and become kittypets! There was, however, the slightly comforting thought that whatever big bad monster laying on the path to the Moon Tunnels had technically been unable to take down the then-most-renowned apprentice of the Clans.

 _And I've had better training than you, mister snooty_ the most capable apprentice in my time, _from Darkstar himself and the combined effort of every ShadowClan cat_. _I stand a chance._

"You all know I left in greenleaf," said the silver tom, this time sounding so resigned Flamepaw couldn't help but feel a twist of pity for him. She welcomed the more sympathetic emotions; she didn't like the way anger curdled in her belly. "It was a hot, hot greenleaf; there's been nothing like it since. RiverClan's water barely soaked the pebbles of their riverbed."

Grassfur looked horrified, Cloudtuft disbelieving. Flamepaw thought the expressions should have been switched, and stifled a small laugh.

"ShadowClan's marsh was as dry as WindClan's moor."

 _I just walked through a sandy field last night, right off the edge of WindClan territory. There is absolutely no way our territory could be that dry, nope, can't happen. You're either exaggerating, lying, or forgetful._

But she had to admit that he'd lived through more seasons than her. If it was true, the idea of the swamps bring completely dry was... disconcerting.

"ThunderClan didn't have a drop of morning dew to lick."

Stonefall's face was mostly emotionless, save for the rounding of his eyes and the twitching of his tail. _Not wanting to give away anything about ThunderClan,_ Flamepaw guessed. _Better than Mintpaw. Although all cats lick dew in greenleaf, so that's not much of a secret, is it?_

"My group dragged ourselves to Twolegplace at the sunhigh of the second morning."

Flamepaw exchanged a glance with the group member closest to her, who happened to be Stonefall. _They were that slow? We made it in a full night's journey._ He seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he returned her gaze quickly —actually, she was pretty sure he'd looked at her before she'd looked at him— and the crookedness of his ears betrayed a question.

They communicated silently: she shrugged her shoulders at him, he blinked, she grinned because she thought his face was too somber and he needed a little lightening up, he tilted his head and blinked again.

She wasn't quite sure what it meant, but it meant _something_ , and she felt warm inside.

"We were all hungry and decided to split up to hunt." Mintpaw's words were rushed now, less dramatic and more frantic, as if this story had been waiting a long time to finally be told. "The Clan cats went with their own. I was the only ThunderClan cat, so I went alone. We were supposed to meet back up at a certain time, a certain place— oh, I don't remember. Keep in mind that we'd been walking the whole day since early morning; it was cold first when we woke up, then hot and as dry as a desert. We hadn't found any water."

She thought she knew where this story was going, but none of it explained why he never returned.

"The last thing I remember was thinking I scented rabbit and black spots in my vision. It was like I wasn't... like I was going through the motions of hunting automatically, without thinking about it, instictive but also stupid. Black spots? Whatever, perfectly normal, let me get this rabbit. I got dizzy and I just wanted water, I was so thirsty... and then I fell.

"At least, I think I did, because when I woke up again my fur was up against one of these sidewalks, and I was laying down. My pelt was burning and monsters were rushing past."

 _Sidewalks?_ That was probably the proper name for these gray paths. They were, after all, places to walk by the _side_ of the Thunderpath. _Aw, that's pretty cool. Who named those, I wonder?_

"A monster stopped on the Thunderpath right next to me. Twolegs came out of it. They picked me up when I was still groggy and too weak to fight back, and they took me back into the monster with them."

This was fairly alarming.

Mintpaw stopped suddenly and bounded towards one of the white wood fences that protected a Twoleg nest, scratching at a hole beneath it and squeezing through. The four remaining cats looked warily at each other.

 _That doesn't look safe or comfortable. But if Maplepool's there, who cares about comfort?_

 _What if it's a trap? We can take on just Mintpaw, easy, but if he's leading us to more enemies..._ A vision of a dog flashed through her mind, brutish and drooling, and she felt a chill running through her spine.

Cloudtuft seemed willing to take the risk, and stepped up to the hole beneath the fence, digging at it to create a bigger space for his fluffy pelt. He managed to make it through to the other side, and his white tail flicked at them to follow.

 _Well, there's no screaming. We're good._ With the small threat of danger gone, Flamepaw found herself feeling excited. She'd never looked at a Twoleg den up close before, nor had she seen what surrounded it. What would it look like on the other side? She imagined hard, gray rock everywhere, with some patches of soil here or there, akin to the dusty clearing between the forest and Twolegplace.

Grassfur muttered something that sounded like "can't believe I'm doing this" and also entered.

"You first," Flamepaw said absently to Stonefall, who obliged. She took one last look at the open Thunderpath, the winding sidewalk, and slipped underneath the fence.

It was nothing like she'd imagined.

Green, green everywhere, just like the clearing they had searched before Mintpaw had shown himself. There were flowers growing on dark soil beds, slightly withered from the cold, and a huge slab of reddish-gray stone bordering what she assumed was the entrance to the Twoleg den itself.

"They saved me," the silver tom was saying. All the cats had gathered to sit on the soft grass. Cloudtuft was kneading impatiently at the ground as Mintpaw finished his story. "They took me in, gave me food and water. Twolegs are kind."

"Why didn't you continue to the Moon Tunnels?" asked Flamepaw, confused. "Or even go back to the Clans?"

 _It's a little more understandable, his story. He wasn't just a runaway coward. Still..._

"With my tail between my legs and kittypet scent on my pelt? In the heat?" Mintpaw spat. "Mintpaw, the apprentice full of potential, returning in disgrace. The first apprentice to come back not having made it to the Moon Tunnels. Unprecedented; worse, _shameful_. As for the Moon Tunnels themselves: I was getting there, before you interrupted."

 _Okay, okay, no need to get snappy,_ Flamepaw thought. Then she remembered, with a pang of regret, the similar annoyance she'd felt towards him in the beginning.

 _I'm being a little hypocritical._

She told herself that she would _try_ to be more understanding. The she-cat didn't recall having snapped at Mintpaw outright, but her thoughts had been as scornful as Grassfur's words were. _I don't want to be a Grassfur._

"They left without me," Mintpaw said.

"I asked around as soon as I was better, with the native cats in the area. Some had seen a group of cats meeting up and then leaving. They didn't bother to search or wait for one of their own cats. My Twolegs took in a cat who wasn't even theirs, and treated me better than they ever did." His eyes shone. "They named me Brave. I don't wear the name given to me by cats who willingly sent me off to benefit themselves."

"Ironic," Cloudtuft said, as Mintpaw-Brave — _Brave,_ Flamepaw decided to call him, since it was true he shouldn't have a Clan cat name— stood up. "Seeing as you're a coward."

The kittypet flattened his ears.

Flamepaw felt torn. She was naturally inclined to agree with Cloudtuft; here they were, risking their lives on a journey eveyone saw as hopeless. Mintpaw had left before the disappearances even began.

 _But wouldn't it be brave to tell us this, knowing full well what our reactions would be? A different type of bravery, really, but..._ She wasn't sure what Brave's motives were, besides curiosity, and tried to analyze him. She still wasn't fond of his attitude, but she could at least attempt to be more understanding. Anger, hatred, contempt; all those feelings left a bad taste in her mouth. She didn't want them around; they weren't _Flamepaw_.

"Let's not waste time," she said, when trying to dig too deeply into his mind made her uncomfortable. "Just take us to Maplepool and we'll leave."

She saw him droop a little, as if disappointed. _Why— oh, he wanted his information._

"My Twolegs have marigold," Brave said offhandedly, as he padded off, "to prevent infection."

"No one else from your group came back either," responded Flamepaw, trading this bit of information. No one from her group protested; the silver cat's blue eyes widened.

 _I wish I knew my herbs. Darkstar said I should focus on other things, since ThunderClan puts an emphasis on herbs, so they could take care of that. It's true— Stonefall did seem to know what he was looking for, earlier. I wonder why he taught me history, of all things, though. It does come in handy..._

"Drink a lot of water and eat red meat —ducks, rabbits— if you can, for replenishing blood."

Flamepaw was a little guiltily aware that all this information was helpful for her and not so much the others.

"Since your group, _no_ apprentice has ever come back from the tunnels."

The kittypet froze.

" _No one?_ " he echoed disbelievingly.

Suddenly, abruptly, a blaze of fawn and ginger fur dashed towards them, appearing from just past the spot where the Twoleg nest turned. Maplepool's amber eyes were wild and panicked as she crashed into them, bowling over an unfortunate Stonefall who was in her way. Grassfur sprang several mouselengths away, cursing in shock.

Cloudtuft pinned Maplepool to the ground, gently, but it wasn't necessary; she had already recognized them.

"What are you doing here?" she meowed. "What am _I_ doing here? Cloudtuft, something knocked me out—"

"I think I know more than you do," the white tom said laughingly, his good humor returned upon finding her. "We'll catch you up."

"For now," Brave interjected, having recovered from his surprise, "I recommend you rest until nightfall. I don't know which way north is, and she needs to rest." He jerked his head towards Flamepaw. "Feel free to stay here, and use any herbs you need."

"Don't you want _information for information?_ " Grassfur sneered at him, with much more snark than necessary. He seemed to be growing exponentially cruel after they found Maplepool; the hatred in his tone was jarring and ugly, but also familiar.

"It seems I want more information than I have," the kittypet said dully, leaving the Clan cats to their own devices.

 _He's a little mood-swingy, isn't he? He keeps jumping from emotion to emotion, like he's lots of different cats instead of just one._ Flamepaw felt a little bad, but not enough to go after him when _her_ cats were here as well. Between him and them, she knew who she would choose a million times over. She let the silver tom go without any proper good-bye —vaguely, she wondered, _Will I ever see him again?—_ then turned to Maplepool.

"Problem solved, cat found, quest complete!" she cried with a grin. "We're awesome."

She thought she saw a smile whisk across Stonefall's muzzle before disappearing. Grassfur continued to scowl; Maplepool and Cloudtuft, however, seemed similarily happy.

"Flamepaw, you're awake!" the WindClan cat exclaimed, delighted.

"I am! Thanks for risking your pelt to help me," the blue-gray apprentice meowed with a grin, sincerely grateful. "You too, Cloudtuft." She should thank all of them, Stonefall and Grassfur too —the former most of all— but they were outside of hearing range. The gray tabby was hanging back, as if not wanting to interrupt anything, although he was as much as part of this as anyone else, and Flamepaw thought she should tell him so. Grassfur, on the other paw, had stalked off away from the group.

The white tom dipped his head. "Of course. Anyway, we'll need to stay here for the rest of the day. We can't leave, not before Silverpelt is out. You all get some rest," he called, raising his voice and sounding very much like a leader. "I'll see what we can do about hunting."

"I'd better get some marigold before rest," Flamepaw said, inhaling to capture the scent of marigold. She knew what it looked like —big and puffy, the gold color of that monster in the dusty clearing, sometimes tinged with red— and she knew what it smelled like —the pungent, musky, sharp scent hanging around injured warriors— but she had never put two and two together.

 _Thataway,_ she thought, angling her ears in the direction of the scent. A few pawsteps later, she spotted gold petals and dark green leaves in the corner of her vision.

As Flamepaw made it to the marigold and started to clean her wound, her head spun with the images and memories of Twolegplace. _Disappearances, Twolegs, monsters, dogs, kidnappings, cats from the dead, and it's not yet been a full day._ The wound on her side began to sting with a vengeance as she licked off the dried blood, revealing a raw, pink-and-red gash running through the blue fur. She reached to pluck some nasty-tasting marigold and began to chew it into a poultice.

 _I'm kinda disappointed that I'm the first one to get injured. And to pass out. Way to go, Flamepaw, great job proving yourself worthy of going to the Moon Tunnels at eleven moons._ But this thought was regarded with a cheerful dry humor, not self-loathing. The journey would take a moon; she'd have many chances more to prove herself.

With that enticing possibility in mind, the ShadowClan cat felt light as she pasted marigold on her flank and lifted her muzzle to the blue, windy sky.

 _We've made it through the first trial._

 _Come at me, Moon Tunnel monsters. I'm ready for you._

* * *

 **And so ends the Twolegplace arc.**

 **I will be taking a break next week, so there will be no chapter posted. After that, we're going to switch gears a bit and see what's going on back home with the Clans! A side story of** **The Trials** **will be launched the week following the break, titled** **The Impossibility** **. While reading it is not necessary, I** ** _very much recommend_** **doing so, as it will offer increased insight to some of our main characters here, and as both fics go on, the plots will grow more entwined.**

 **Updates will continue to be every Saturday, but only one update— so one week might be an update for Trials, the next might be for Impossibility, in no particular pattern.**

 **Thanks for sticking with me to chapter 12! Onwards we go.**


	13. Awaken

**Chapter Thirteen**

Grassfur would never say it out loud, but waiting around wasn't so bad.

His paws itched to get moving, as they constantly did, but the rest of his body ached and he was secretly glad that it could cool off on the soft grass and clover of the Twolegs' territory. It felt simultaneously like time wasted doing nothing and time well spent doing nothing, because nothing cleared his head and relaxed his muscles and calmed his heart.

The _stillness,_ really, was the best part. He found that he could tolerate everything a lot more when the everything wasn't moving.

He'd never really noticed it before. Perhaps he'd never stopped to notice it, or perhaps it was a new weird thing.

The sun had set, twilight whisking after it, and dusk was now falling. Grassfur looked to the sky. There were not many stars up there tonight, not in the Twolegplace filled with artificial-seeming lights, choked by smog and smoke. Still, he knew his stars, and he could trace the right pattern to the very edge, on which the north warrior hung. He swished his tail, rustling the grass.

Part of the factors causing the tom's subconscious decision to be okay with waiting was Mintpaw's story. Brave's story. His group had taken two days —or was it less, since it was morning? He knew stars, not time— just to make it to Twolegplace.

 _We made it much faster,_ Grassfur thought. _We're only just wrapping up the first full sun cycle._

 _Which means we're still plenty ahead, unless the kittypet's group was particularly slow._

 _And we can walk faster once we set off. Leaf-bare nights are long..._

Though he wouldn't ever admit it, not even to himself, Maplepool also played a part.

Her words still rang in his ears, tugging at his tail, clinging to his pelt like an annoying burr.

 _If you haven't done what you did last night, none of this would have happened! We'd all wake up in the morning at normal times..._

He told himself that it was because he was mad he hadn't been able to retort, and it was far too late now. Her loud meow had scattered his thoughts, and they went every which way, down separate paths, like:

 _It's Flamepaw's fault for leaving!_

 _You have the nerve to yell at me?_

 _She'd wake up earlier anyway._

 _We still might have run into the dog._

 _How is this my fault?_

And many more thoughts had picked apart the holes in her angry words. He had struggled with them, trying to figure out which one to say out loud. By the time his brain had worked it into a cohesive unit, it was far too late; she and Cloudtuft had left. If he brought it up now, it'd just be weird.

 _She probably thinks she won._ The thought made a deep frown crease Grassfur's features, and he pushed the whole thing out of his mind. He skipped over to thinking about other, less annoying events that had happened during the day, his mind spinning from _what was Flamepaw_ thinking, _honestly,_ to _that dog was a brute, bet we gave it scars it won't ever forget_ to _Mintpaw-Brave is a strange cat_ to _Stonefall's full of surprises._

Then he settled on the last thing, because it was quite possibly the most interesting.

There had been an awkward silence when he and the gray tabby had been left with the unconscious Flamepaw. Stonefall had been staring everywhere and nowhere in particular, seemingly pretending as if he was fixated on something else and therefore not initiating conversation...

 _Grassfur gave in first._

 _As the ThunderClanner's green eyes swooped about the area like a hawk for the tenth time, he interrupted. "Why don't you ever talk?" It came out more accusing than he's meant it to; the russet tom suspected that it was physically impossible for him to portray the right emotion, have the right lilting tone of curiosity to his voice._

 _Stonefall flinched, of course._ What kind of a question is that? _asked the look on his face, and this question was quickly echoed with a quiet meow. Maybe it was because he was so expressive; the whole of ThunderClan was probably able to interpret his body language, and he had no need to talk._

 _"A normal question," Grassfur pointed out. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but he knew someone else in the group would ask eventually, if not him._

 _"...No, it's not."_

 _He thought he heard a bit of Flamepaw's dryness in the protest. A bit of Cloudtuft, too, his half-teasing rumble hiding behind the thinner mew of the younger tom._

 _A half shrug, a roll of his spiky-furred shoulders. "Suit yourself. I was just curious."_

 _A pause, hesitation, a tentative response. "I don't think that... that's the kind of question you answer easy." Stonefall's words stumbled on themselves, tripping over each other and losing the_ ly _sound at the end of what should have been_ easily _, but he wasn't speaking quickly or nervously; his sentence died off in a contemplative sort of way._

 _Grassfur thought about it for a moment, but didn't see the difficulty in it. It seemed an simple enough question; "Why don't you talk?" could be answered with anything, really, from "I don't like talking" to "I have a chronic and persistent sore throat that makes every word absolute agony."_

 _"Like, what if someone asked you—" Stonefall looked like he regretted continuing._

 _The russet tom twitched his ears. "Go on."_

 _"...asked you why you're angry all the time."_

 _Immediately, Grassfur felt defensive._ What gives you the right to— oh. _He couldn't be a hypocrite about that. He tilted his head at Stonefall._ Point taken. _But he was too proud to admit his fault..._

 _"That's just the way I was made," he meowed in what he hoped sounded like an easy, careless manner, as if it was an obvious answer to a "normal" question. The words felt like thorns as they exited his jaws, scraping at the inside of his mouth. It was heavy, painful, the ghost of a reminder of a cat he'd told himself to keep locked in the back of his mind._

"That's just the way you were made." _Soothing, placating, the voice of the only cat who accepted him just the way he was. Her voice echoed in his head, sounding quietly in his ears._

 _"Then I guess I don't talk because that's just the way_ I _was made," Stonefall said, snapping Grassfur out of the memory. He seemed thoughtful, head tilted up to the warm sun and whiskers blown by the breeze. "But I don't think that's exactly right..."_

 _"How so?" Grassfur inquired, but the tabby was already shaking his head._

 _"Can't put my paw on it..."_

 _Silence lapsed between them, slightly less awkward and slightly more comfortable, a silence that was not broken until Cloudtuft had returned with fear-scent on his pelt._

The russet tom, his mind having wandered back to the present, cast a swift glance at Stonefall. He wondered if the other cat had tried to out his paw on it at all. Probably not. He'd probably forgotten their whole conversation without sparing even a thought over it. Other cats tended to do that; sometimes, Grassfur thought he was the only cat in the world who remembered things like that.

(Not the only cat in the world. There was Sweetleaf, but he pushed her out of his mind, because her prescence only caused pain.)

"Are we going to get moving, or what?" he said out loud, standing and turning to face north.

"I don't know what 'what' is, but we're getting moving," Cloudtuft meowed amiably, getting to his paws. Grassfur frowned to see that he had been laying next to Maplepool. _Honestly, they're stuck together by the flank. I know Cloudtuft was pretty lonely in RiverClan, but really? The first she-cat he meets?_ Well, they'd both met Flamepaw first, but the russet got the vague feeling that his brother and the WindClanner had met previously.

 _Wonder how he managed that under Perchstar's ever-watchful eye._

The thought of his leader sent a chill down Grassfur's spine. What was she doing right now? When had she noticed their disappearance? He felt a rather grudging sort of worry towards ShadowClan. _If she finds out who was behind this, there'll be war._

The other cats followed suit, stretching and getting up. They exited Mintpaw's Twolegs' territory in cheerful silence, Grassfur keeping an eye on the north star even as he scrambled beneath the fence. He was the last to come out the other side, planting his paws on the rough stone paths.

"That's the way, isn't it?" his brother murmured, angling his white muzzle in the direction of the star.

Grassfur and Flamepaw made similar noises of agreement. The tom eyed the blue cat, who was grayer in the dimness of the night. Orange-yellow, artificial light from the Twoleg nests illuminated her pelt —all of their pelts, he noticed— and she seemed none the worse for wear after their adventure with the dog.

"Let's go!" the apprentice said cheerfully. "I hope there's frogs around." She nearly bounced off north, Stonefall trailing a little ways behind her. Maplepool followed and Cloudtuft made to go after her, but Grassfur whisked his tail in front of his forelegs and stopped him.

"Walk with me," he muttered.

Cloudtuft blinked in surprise, but fell behind next to his brother. He flicked his white ears towards the WindClan she-cat, who had turned back when she found that he wasn't by her side. The entire exchange miffed Grassfur. He wasn't sure if it was the way they communicated wordlessly in a way he couldn't understand, or the way she expected him to be right next to her even though they're already spent a day stuck together, or just _her in general_.

This was exactly why he had to talk to his brother about it.

Didn't Cloudtuft see everything wrong with her? Did he have a thing for pretty, helpless she-cats that he had to protect? That was all she was, really: bland, colorless, a blank slate that could be described with generalizations. She had no _personality_ , she was just _there_ , more like an accessory for him than an actual, living cat.

"What is it with you and Maplepool?"

The russet tom's question was demanding, accusing; the white tom's reaction was defensive, affronted. He narrowed his sky-blue eyes.

"What do mean 'what is it'? We're friends."

" _Friends_ ," Grassfur scoffed, glaring at him. "It's like someone knotted your tails together. You've known each other for what, one day?"

"Who put knots in _your_ tail?" Cloudtuft exclaimed angrily, his meow a low, hissing breath. "We knew each other before the night of the Gathering, that's all."

"What do you even _like_ about her?"

"She's kind!" _You could use that to describe anyone, except me!_ "She's a good warrior! She's— she's _normal_. Unlike the rest of this ragged bunch of cats, unlike _you_. She's normal and familiar and a cat from a fairytale because of it."

"Ha. That's all?" _It's true— she really is a nothing kind of cat. Normal,_ he thought scornfully.

"That's all?" Cloudtuft echoed. He narrowed his eyes. "What's your problem— no, _what is it with_ you _and Maplepool?_ "

Hearing his question reflected back at him stung his pride. Grassfur bristled, refusing to answer the question, just like the way his brother had dodged it. "Anything with me and Maplepool is between me and Maplepool," he said stiffly, her name scratching his tongue unpleasantly.

"You haven't even talked to her," Cloudtuft continued, "but it's so obvious to everyone that you hate her."

 _I_ do _hate her, fishface, and so should everyone else._ " _You_ haven't even talked to anyone else besides her!"

"What does that have to do with— I have!"

"Not _deeply!_ "

"Well, neither have you!"

 _Stonefall_ flashed through Grassfur's mind. He was about to say this out loud when he decided not to tell his brother about it. Hot with anger despite the cold leaf-bare night, he said sourly, "If you think _I'm_ being unreasonable, she just snapped at me today for something that wasn't even my fault."

"But you—" spluttered Cloudtuft. He stopped, took a long breath, and meowed, "you've been a jerk this whole time! She's just had enough of it!"

 _You've just proved my point._ Grassfur turned away from his brother. _She can't speak for herself, can she? She needs someone else to defend her sorry self._

Both of their arguments were flawed, in essence, but the russet cat couldn't find it in him to care about the holes in his own. Cloudtuft stormed away from him, but Grassfur saw with satisfaction that he didn't talk to Maplepool. His words might be wrong, but they were effective, at least.

The air was uncomfortably sticky, and it clung heavily to Grassfur's pelt as he walked. He had a faint, strange memory of similarly sticky, itchy grass scratching at his skin. _Where was that? Not yesterday; the field-grass yesterday was dry, but not annoying._ His mind offered no answer save for the faint scent of heather...

...the crunch of bone?

...and a _barking_ , a cruel bark, not quite the sound of the dog they had fought just earlier. Higher pitched, victorious.

The RiverClan cat shook his head wildly, ridding himself of what must be the wild products of his imagination, caused by lack of proper sleep. He hadn't been able to nap properly at the Twoleg nest; he'd been too wary of the strange territory. Plus, everyone had been on the lookout for prey. Brave's warning about not splitting up had set them slightly on edge, and they decided as a whole not to go off, even in groups of two or three, to find food. Grassfur had caught a fair amount of crickets, and around sunset, they were lucky enough to have a rabbit wander over, which was quickly dispatched by Cloudtuft and shared by all five cats. The scant meal was just enough to take the edge off their hunger.

 _Just keep moving. We've got to be out of Twolegplace soon, and then there'll be prey. I'm not sure if we'll actually stop to hunt. Going forward is this most important..._

The journey to the Moon Tunnels took a half moon. The entire trip there and back to the Clans was, of course, one full moon. Three moons had passed since Sweetleaf's group had departed. The longer he let time stretch on, the less likely it was they would find each other.

 _No. No. There's a hundred percent chance and it's never going down. Failure is not an option. It feels impossible that I would find her... it feels impossible that I_ wouldn't _find her. She can't just have disappeared forever._

The band of cats came to a halt at the edge of the gray path, where it curved sharply left. North was now across a gritty black Thunderpath, illuminated with flickering orange light. On the other side was a strip of dirt followed by a fence of steel, which blocked what his night vision identified as _freedom._

"There's not a lot of monsters out," Cloudtuft meowed authoritatively, addressing the entire group. "We can probably just run past." He flexed his shoulders, muscles rippling under his thick white pelt, stained amber under the artificial lights of Twolegplace.

The five gathered into a closer bundle, until Grassfur could feel the soft heat emanating from their bodies, and they dashed towards the strip of earth. The Thunderpath was alight with the frenzied pounding of paws, then became as still as it had been before after all the cats made it to the other side.

"Under or over the fence?" Flamepaw asked, eyeing the shiny silver structure. "It looks climbable, if you hook our claws in the holes like..." She prodded it with an unsheathed paw. It rattled.

"Looks sharp on the top," Maplepool mewed warily. The mottled ginger she-cat reared up and placed her front paws on the fence, blinking up at the spiked pieces of steel.

"Could be sharp on the bottom, too," Grassfur heard Stonefall murmur, so quietly that no one else noticed. He womdered if it was just an accidentally spoken thought, or something that the tabby actually wanted everyone else to hear.

Cloudtuft was sniffing his way down the fence, stirring up dust as he padded across the strip of dirt. The white tom paused a little ways away from them, his belly fur dirtied and brown from crouching. "There's a hole here!" he called. "Rabbit probably dug it. We can go through here."

After making his way over, Grassfur thought that the hole was decidedly _not_ a rabbit-dug hole; it was too big, the perfect size for cats to fit through.

 _Of course, frog-brain. Others have been through here._

This was the third time he'd slipped under a fence during the whole journey, but the first _proper_ one, a fence that all the other cats before him had gone through. As he made it to the other side, last out of the five, he felt his paws brushing the indents of many others and felt a strange emotion.

 _Pawprints._

 _The tracks left behind by our ancestors, our Clanmates, the apprentices before our time._

 _We're back on the path to the Moon Tunnels._

Cool, soft earth was beneath his pawpads now. It was stiff from leaf-bare's temperatures, but compared to the rough Twolegplace paths, it felt as soft as bird-fluff, relieving and familiar. The land that stretched past them was empty save for a little dotting of foliage here or there. The sky wasn't so polluted with light, and he could see all the shades of nighttime, deep purples and blues tinted with the slightest bit of green, and all of Silverpelt in its glory, including the north warrior that twinkled enticingly skylengths away. It beckoned, teasing— in sight, so close, yet absolutely unreachable. He took a step forward; it moved an equal distance away.

Everyone else was similarly lost in the simple beauty of the world beyond Twolegplace, it seemed, because they were no longer moving, just staring across the open land. In any other situation, the plain brown earth would have been dull, but a day in the horrible place of Twolegs made any form of nature all the sweeter.

The group of cats stayed liked this for what could have been moments or moons, until a sharp gust of wind caught them by surprise.

It howled, roaring angrily with jaws and teeth of ice that bit into his fur and dug deeper, all the way to his skin. The air was humid, wet, like a breeze in greenleaf, but with the chill and strength of wind from leaf-bare.

"That was ominous," said Flamepaw cheerfully, but anything she tried to say past that was swallowed by another flurry of wind.

Stonefall was shivering, his whiskers trembling with the iciness. "Pro'lly shouldn't've gone nocturnal," he meowed weakly, the words seeming like an attempt at a joke. "Nights are colder than days."

"Are you going to let _air_ knock you over?" The blue-gray ShadowClan cat gave him a feline grin. She bounced on her paws, seeming unaffected by either the "ominous" currents of air or her injury. "This is exciting! This is new! If we keep moving, our limbs won't freeze and fall off!" She pranced in circles around a very alarmed Stonefall. Grassfur saw Cloudtuft watching amusedly, but when the brothers' eyes met, the white tom looked away with a coldness eerily similar to the wind.

The russet tom shrugged to himself, giving off an unaffected look. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince his brother or himself that he didn't care. _We've had worse fights. He's got his pretty Maplepool to keep him company, and I don't need anyone. He'll get over it._

"All right," Cloudtuft said genially, pointedly turning his back to Grassfur and facing Flamepaw. "Let's go— any longer and my paws _will_ fall off."

Somehow, the little apprentice's excitement was contagious. As she gallivanted off, the three other cats seemed more perked up: ears erect and perked forward, tails held high, paws lifting more off the ground as they went on.

Grassfur felt something stirring in his own self as he made to follow the cats. It was strangely pleasant, a new movement in a spirit that had so long been closed and sedentary.

He was breathless from the wind, enlivened by the sky, strengthed by the soil beneath his paws... and, for once, at peace with the world that stretched before him.


	14. The Blizzard

**Chapter Fourteen**

Stonefall had no idea how Flamepaw did it.

He was frozen to the tips of his toes; if he exhaled, the cloud of water droplets from his muzzle would cling to his whiskers and turn to tiny beads of ice. He could hardly feel his tail, his pawpads were stiff, the chill of the nighttime air dug all the way into his bones. He was also very, very hungry.

And yet, here was the blue-gray apprentice, darkened by the shadows of night yet brighter than the stars in her optimism. _This is exciting! This is new!_ Her cheerful mew echoed in his head.

The irony of her name hadn't been lost on him when he'd first learned it, but now the tabby thought he understood why the _blue_ cat was named Flamepaw. She was pure light in the darkness, shining and showing the way when without it everyone would have given up. She was alight and ablaze, a fire that appeared gentle at first but could strike you down easy as anything if you nudged it a little too far. And at the same time she was warmth, comfort, making for a combination that drew Stonefall to her with the same intensity that he shied away from her. He craved her warmth— simultaneously he feared her— after all, he was water— the two feelings canceled out, leaving him nowhere at all.

The only sort of fire he'd seen before now, the only sort he though existed, was his sister. Dawnheart might be a inferno, brilliant and showy, ambitious and roaring, but Flamepaw was... a flame. Both fire, but in completely different forms.

His mind lapsed out of his thoughts and back into the coldness of the here and now. It would be an almost painful type of cold, had it not numbed every particle of his body already.

Yet, somehow, it was also _humid_ ; moisture wet his fur and it couldn't be sweat. The stickiness in the air felt heavy, dragging him down, the same way the sharp bites of wind jolted him forward.

The huge gusts of air were pulling all five cats closer together in a huddle of freezing fur and slightly warm bodies. Flamepaw had fallen from the lead despite her best efforts and she was now flanked on the right by Grassfur, the way they had been last night. Cloudtuft, Maplepool, and Stonefall himself ended up in the rear, in that order from left to right; Cloudtuft seemed very determined to avoid his spiky-pelted brother.

 _I wonder what happened between them,_ Stonefall thought, but did not delve further into guesses on the matter. It would be nosy of him... Then again, Grassfur had already reached prime levels of nosiness not long ago.

 _Why don't you ever talk?_ The words taunted him.

 _Unlike you lot, I don't find the need to fill up silence with words,_ Stonefall had been tempted to respond, but did not. The worst way to fight fire was with more fire, although Grassfur wasn't really fire. He was a shadowy bramble, thorny and rough, always on the defense and ready to slice without mercy if you strayed too close. No, maybe he was a honeybee; one could easily avoid getting pricked by brambles with common sense, but bees were more unpredictable with their stinging. It didn't matter much— he'd be in for a bad time whether it was bees or brambles that he set on fire.

Stonefall's teeth chattered as he walked onwards.

The air was so cold...

 _I'm still bothered, though._ Not at the question, really; it had slipped off as easily as water droplets on a duck's feathers. More at the end of their conversation.

 _Just the way I was._

Was that really the way things worked? Were you destined to walk a certain path the moment you were made?

He thought of Dawnheart.

No one could deny that she'd just been _born_ talented. She and Stonefall were littermates, raised in the same condition, mentored by the same cats, and yet she pulled ahead without even trying.

At least, it _seemed_ effortless, but Stonefall had no way of actually measuring how hard she worked, compared to him. During his apprenticehood, he tended to fluctuate; some days, his jaw was set so hard it ground his teeth, he was as determined as anything, and he nearly matched then-Dawnpaw in whatever challenges they were facimg that day. Other days, he felt exhausted, where he simply wanted to bury his head in a nice soft patch of grass and sleep.

This was why he thought Grassfur's logic was inherently wrong.

 _If I worked as hard as Dawnheart did, or more, would I be_ better _than her? But if I was born a hard worker, that would be 'the way I was made'... is something like that controllable? If I just_ tried, _could I change it?_

A choice that he could make, or a fate that he was resigned to. Stonefall knew which one he preferred.

 _...what if I chose for it to be a choice? Does that work?_

He didn't want for all of his words to blur together every time he tried to talk. He didn't want to worry over what everyone thought of him so much. Surely, if it were a choice, it would be easier for him to just _not_ be this way.

Stonefall was subconsciously aware of continued wind, struggling against it by instinct, his brain focused on more abstract things than the very cold, very real earth around him.

 _Think._

He stared up at the sky, then the ground, then ahead, chewing on his scrambled thoughts for a fair while until he managed to get them into a sort of organized chaos.

 _We don't stay the way we are as kits all the way into adulthood. We change. Is it preplanned by the stars? It is caused by the environment, or by us?_

 _What's a good example... oh, the thing that happened just a little while ago. When I was chosen._ It felt like moons, but it was only days...

 _An outside source —Spottedstar, or Thrushfeather— caused it, but we could both choose our own reactions to it. Dawnheart could choose to be happy, to be sad... she's just naturally inclined to feel slighted—_

 _That's it!_

Stonefall blinked, eyes rounding, and made a muffled sound out loud that was thankfully swallowed by the rush of wind around them. After making his outside apearance seem perfectly normal, nothing weird at all, he inhaled a cool influx of damp air that cleared the last dregs of fog in his cold-numbed mind.

 _We all have a tendency to be one way or another. Grassfur, angry; Flamepaw, optimistic; me... shy, I guess. But we can go against those tendencies. They exist, that's why it's so hard to change, but change is doable... I was made this way, yes, but I can_ make myself _however I want to be._

Strange excitement sparked through him like lightning. He should tell Grassfur— he should share this revelation with the world—

The tabby's exhilarated train of thoughts was stopped abruptly when doubt settled in. Doubt, self-uncertainty, only friends that helped him amount to nothing. _Grassfur won't remember; he'll just think I'm odd, even more than all of them probably already think. I'm probably wrong, too. Who's to say I'm right? How could we ever know, really? A little cat's little few minutes of philosophy, that's all this amounts to. No wonder my father wanted me gone._

The thought of Thrushfeather brought a flurry of emotions to batter Stonefall, a thousand times more strongly than the wind, and he clenched his teeth, trying not to cry. Crying was stupid, in this situation, so why did he suddenly want to? Overwhelmed by the barrage of emotions, he ducked his head, shading his eyes from the moonlight with his ears.

 _Yup. This is why._

He couldn't be sure that Thrushfeather wanted to get rid of him, but what was the alternative? He was nowhere near as good as his sister. Logically, she should be the one to go, if the Clan believed in the journey any more. They had probably lost hope, probably decided it was best to throw away their worst apprentice and keep the better.

 _Stop that,_ he scolded himself, partly because he risked a glance upwards and his gaze landed on Flamepaw. The blue-gray cat had a grim, determined smile on her face, ears perked forward and head held high.

 _Don't be a Stonefall when you can choose to be a Flamepaw._

She was a lot of things he wanted to be.

Sudden darkness was cast across the cats, and they all looked up; the moon had been covered by a passing cloud.

 _Clouds? Since when were there clouds in the sky?_ The night had been clear what felt like just moments ago, but he had probably spent more time than he'd thought lost in his thinking. The area of light that must be the moon was high in the sky.

The cloud left quickly, herded forward by the relentless wind. Someone made a sound of discomfort.

"This is one of the weirder nights I've been through," Maplepool meowed out loud, her voice cutting through the icy air. "Although I've been— I _haven't_ been through many." She squeezed her amber eyes shut and did not open them for a few heartbeats.

Stonefall tilted his head, curious, but the fawn cat did not continue. He could see the hairs on Grassfur's neck prickling. _I wonder what that was. Not like I'd ask, though, because that would be nosy. Would anyone else ask? I don't think they noticed. If they did and they asked I think I might lose a little respect for them, even though I really want to know too._

"I get the feeling we'll be in for more than just one weird night," Cloudtuft commented idly.

"Aw, that sounds like fun." Flamepaw swished her tail and Stonefall thought he could hear a grin in her voice, but her face was turned forward, and he could not tell.

"Fun for me, maybe. Perks of being RiverClan."

"Hey, I'm a short-furred ShadowClanner and I'm doing just fine!"

The RiverClan tom and ShadowClan she-cat continued with their affiable chatter. Grassfur was stiffly refusing to join in the conversation, possibly due to whatever was going on between him and his brother. Maplepool didn't contribute, either, apparently lost in some corner of her mind with a distant expression. Stonefall was sorely tempted to join in, to be involved for once, but he still feared the others— not that they would harm him, but that they would judge him, his awkwardness, and he didn't think he was loud enough to be heard over the wind in any case. Plus, he'd probably say all the wrong things in all the wrong ways.

He wanted so awfully to be _accepted_. Flamepaw and Cloudtuft, they were the social ones, the charismatic; it came easily to them to jump into a conversation. But Stonefall didn't know the right place to pop in without seeming like a bulky, interrupting mess.

It was a dull ache, his desire. He wanted everyone — _her_ — everyone to see that he was more than the shy one, that he was actually pretty cool and had a nice internal monologue going. That he was witty, and smart, and an all-around good cat with depth.

 _Am I?_

 _I think— I hope— I wish._

 _And if I am, I wish I could show them._

 _Maybe one day, if that every happens, I can do even better and be a proper hero._

The two cats were now discussing, amiably, the slight anatomic differences in the Clans. Stonefall pricked his ears. This was a topic he knew about; he'd spent enough time observing all the cats during Gatherings, since he never joined in sharing tongues.

He should join in, to prove that he was knowledgable about some things, maybe, and surprise them.

He remembered, with a flash of slight annoyance and frustration, about yet another chance today to impress his group that he had lost.

 _I_ know _marigold helps prevent infections. Every ThunderClan knows that; the herb garden was one of our gifts from the tunnels, after all, but I went there more often than most._ It was pretty, the herb garden, lush and blooming in greenleaf, the first half of his apprenticehood. _But Mintpaw gets all the credit._

 _So should I mention how ThunderClan cats are more slender than even WindClan, to navigate undergrowth, but we also have thick pelts to keep warm in cold forest weather? Or how RiverClan pelts are sleek? No, everyone knows that. RiverClan paws are big and their claws are more hooked; ShadowClan is light-footed and small-pawed because their territory is all mud; they'd get their paws stuck all the time if they stepped heavy; WindClan is muscled, and their speed comes more from power than just litheness, plus they have the sharpest teeth._

But he didn't say a thing.

Small talk could warm the atmosphere between the walking pack of cats, but it did not stop the ground from freezing. The soil had begun to grow frosty, and tiny shards of ice poked at Stonefall's paws.

Small talk also could not stop snow from falling.

They were possibly five hours into the night's journey, based on the position of the moon, when the bizarre white flakes had started to fall. The last time he'd seen snow was early in his kithood, but he was too preoccupied over the worrying wind and cold to marvel over the wonder of precipitation. Stonefall's wounds, a byproduct of the Twolegplace dog, began to sting like fury.

He was surprised it had taken this long. The events of the day had staved off the pain of the scratches crisscrossing his pelt; first was the adrenaline and anger, the not-Stonefall that had taken over as he tore his claws into the dog in revenge. Second was the frenzied search for Maplepool and the fear over her scent trails getting muddled. Third was help from the marigold, and fourth was the sleep he'd had at Mintpaw's. Fifth came the cold winds of the night, numbing all his nerves.

But although the snow was cold, so cold it burned, the melted snow seeped into his injuries and turned it into pure agony. He tried to stay calm and collected, when on the inside he needed to roar to get rid of the pain.

 _Did anyone else get hurt?_ Stonefall wondered, and then his heart skipped a beat.

 _Flamepaw._

Flamepaw, with the giant gash in her side, caked with marigold that had been long rendered useless— that was never useful in the first place for protecting the wound.

He felt his paws being pulled towards her and stilled them, forced them to keep moving straight forward.

 _What is there I can do, anyway?_

 _I tried saving her once and it did absolutely nothing but get me_ my _wounds. I needed the others... I tried to be a hero, and all I ended up doing was looking like a fool._

In any case, anything that fell from the sky was clean, be it snow, rain, or hail. It would hurt, but it wouldn't infect or otherwise greatly harm.

Stonefall's head felt fuzzy, and his vision started to blur. He blinked to clear it, shaking snow off his head. More and more of the white flecks were falling, until the ground was covered in a thin layer of the stuff that was gradually getting thicker. The wind picked up, howling and screeching, battering the cats without mercy.

The snow was up to his toes; it crunched as he walked.

Then it covered his paws.

Then it rose to his ankles.

 _Cold_ reigned over everything; he couldn't focus on anything but the cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. He was surprised his blood hadn't frozen. It would soon; then he would fall and his veins would snap like brittle leaf-bare twigs and he would die, and death would at least be warm...

"Should we find shelter and wait it out?" Cloudtuft called, his voice nearly lost under the wind.

"If we could, we would have long ago! I can't see any shelter," cried Maplepool. The cats were bundled together so that they were one great mass of fur and muscle, but even the white tom and the mottled she-cat, who were right next to each other, needed to yowl to be heard.

"We can't go on," said a weak voice up ahead— Flamepaw, who he hadn't thought would ever say the word _can't_.

 _She's the smallest of us, and the worst injured, too. How can we keep going? How can we not, when there's nowhere to run?_ The land was barren. Above them was sky, and no one could escape the sky.

The cold was so harsh that it burned; it hurt to breathe and walk and move.

"We're going to die if we stay in this weather," Stonefall said aloud, barely a whisper compared to the volume the others had used. He didn't think it was physically possible for him to talk loud enough to be heard over the wind. It didn't matter; it would be obvious to everyone.

The snow was coming in thick flurries now. He could barely see anything in front of him. He felt the cat next to him —was it Maplepool? He couldn't even remember— lurch forward after losing a battle to a gust of wind and barrel into the one in front of her, and both tumbled out of the group.

Stonefall wasn't thinking clearly, couldn't think clearly. One of the remaining cats moved to go after them but no one could see anything but white snow and dark blue night. A cry of anguish came from somewhere.

 _North_ rang through his head, and he tried to keep his paws moving that way because something told him it was important. Then teeth grabbed at his scruff, lukewarm breath touching his fur, and he had not the strength to struggle as he was pulled across the snow. His body laid between something rough and dry and musty-smelling. The warm presence left, and the next thing he knew there was another being right next to him, all fur and slight warmth. Then there was one more, curled around them both, fluffier fur, possibly soft once but not anymore; now it was frozen fur, frozen fluffy fur. The alliteration interested him and the last awake dregs of his mind fixated on it.

If he were better, not so cold and not so broken, he'd be confused, but he was so far gone that he didn't even question it; he was ready to close his eyes and give in. They all did, they all gave in, the piles of fur stuffed in the too-small space that blocked out most the snow.

At dusk, five had set out, bright-eyed and ready to meet nature again after spending hours in a Twoleg-made world.

At midnight, nature decided to hurt them, with unadultured severity.

Hours passed; the blizzard brewed.

And then there were three.


	15. Cynical

**Chapter Fifteen**

He was a RiverClan cat, yet he dreamed of drowning.

Cloudtuft was submerged in river water the slightest bit cold, suspended between its depths and the air above as the current tried to drag him below. He was frozen to his very bones, literally and metaphorically. He tried to kick, to swim, but found he could not move. Still, he stayed where he was in the center of the thing, even though water pulled at his sopping white fur and tugged it downwards.

He found that he could breathe— shallowly, with difficulty, but breathing nonetheless. It felt almost like suffocating, as if his lungs couldn't get nearly enough air to keep him going, but somehow he lived, and he breathed. Breathing hurt his nose, because the air (or was it water?) was so freezing it burned. It must be very, very cold if he could feel it...

The worst part, strangely enough, was being alone. There was nothing and no one in the crystalline blue river; not fish, nor plants, no sign of life at all, just the rhythmic motions of water.

 _Grassfur?_ was the first coherent thought that popped into Cloudtuft's head.

His brother was not here, not anywhere.

 _Grassfur— Maplepool— Flamepaw— Stonefall— where are they? Who are they, those last three names? Why do two of the names bring sorrow?_

A weakened memory stirred in his mind, but he could not follow it. Something about a journey, about friends...

He remembered ice, cold, cruel ice and apparently intense cold that couldn't hurt him, wind and snow, howling wind and furious snow, wind that tossed bodies in the air like they were nothing, snow that blinded them all so they couldn't see what had...

He opened his mouth to try and speak and got a mouthful of snow.

Cloudtuft sprang awake like he'd been stung by bees, hitting his head with a solid _thunk_ as he tried to rise. He had been curled around two other bodies, bodies that were still and warm and breathing ever so slowly. Memories started pouring back into his now conscious mind; slowly, a trickle at first, and then all at once. He blinked the sleep out of his crusted eyes, bleary and slightly overwhelmed by everything. The white cat's flanks heaved as he gasped for air; something was wrong, wrong with the air, wherever he was.

 _The fight with Grassfur._

 _The journey._

 _The wind._

 _The cold._

 _The snow._

 _The snowstorm... not a snowstorm._

 _A blizzard._

The wind had grabbed Maplepool like a great giant monster, and before he could react, she had been thrown into Grassfur, and both cats had gone tumbling out of sight behind the curtains of snow that crippled their eyes. He thought he might have cried out after them, uselessly, but he didn't know where they had gone and Stonefall was swaying and Flamepaw stumbled, fell, didn't rise. His mind told him to save them because he could; his heart cried out, _save all of them!_ ; something that ran deeper even than his heart or mind told him _Grassfur, save Grassfur, get Grassfur._

In the end, he had chosen logic over all else, because he was Cloudtuft the thinker, Cloudtuft the analyzer.

It had torn him in two.

But he was the only one who could save Flamepaw and Stonefall...

He looked over at them in the low light, solid blue and gray tabby pelts resting together, rising and falling. Flamepaw breathed faster, shallower, while Stonefall's back rose and fell slowly.

That reminded him— he needed to get air.

Cloudtuft had found a log, old and decaying, hollow on the inside. This was where they were, he remembered now, holed up inside a fallen dead tree that might have saved their lives. _How is it that there was a tree in the barren land? A hollow one at that? Is StarClan watching over us?_

He moved towards one end of the log. Dim light was glowing through the frozen end; snow and ice had piled up and frozen, effectively sealing them from the outside world.

 _So how have we been breathing?_ he wondered as he pressed his front paws against the translucent layer of ice. As if in answer to his question, he heard a _drip-thud drip-thud_ as water droplets fell from the top of the log and splattered onto the wood.

 _Small holes— so that air can get in, barely, but not much snow._

 _I swear, we've been blessed by our ancestors._

 _I can only pray they're watching those who are missing..._

With great force, he drove his whole weight against the ice, shaking the whole log, and it started cracking. The repeated action caused it to shatter, and a burst of cold, crisp air came forth.

 _Oh, no. If I can feel the cold, the others certainly can._ He decided to poke his head outside only briefly before returning to warm them up. He was RiverClan; it was, pretty, much, his responsibility to do that.

The cats of the river prided themselves on having the most unique, useful gifts from the Moon Tunnels.

The warming stone was not one of the most revered; ironically, it was what saved Cloudtuft's life, along with the other two's.

It had been brought back in the midst of a leaf-bare much like this one, a flat, wide slab of seemingly normal gray stone that was so big it was a dual gift from two newly blessed warriors. At first, it seemed to be a rock of no extraordinary qualities, but it was just what RiverClan had needed in the cold weather. It was always at a perfectly comfortable temperature; warm in the leaf-bare, cool in greenleaf, but called the warming stone due to the way it had been used when first brought back.

But that wasn't all. Any RiverClan cat who touched the rock would gain its qualities— specifically, their body temperature would be just right. Hot and cold would only move them a fraction of a degree up or down; harmless things like the warmth of another cat's body, or the gentle cool of rain, could be felt. However, if the sun was burning, or the snow was as cold as it was yesterday, it wouldn't harm the cat terribly. As an added bonus, if the river happened to be freezing, it only felt slightly cool.

All kits touched the warming stone as soon as they were able. At first, Cloudtuft —Cloudkit, Cloudpaw, then— thought he might be missing out on a very important part of life. He wanted to feel the extremes of the temperature spectrum, to experience all there was to feel.

Now, though, he was infinitely grateful.

Cloudtuft thrust his head through the hole in the long, squinting as his eyes adjusted. It was early morning, sunrise. The sky was a cold, rosy pink, blue and golden at the edges. All the colors were muted, chillier and paler than a usual dawn should be, as if a diaphanous blanket of white had been draped over the whole thing. The ground, too, was covered in white, a layer of snow so thick it was opaque and sparkled in the faint sunlight. The white tom reached out a paw and prodded at it cautiously; it was not as cold as it had been last night, if he remembered correctly, and was starting to feel slushy.

He inhaled sharply and the rush of air cleared some of the fog that surrounded his brain. He reached up with a paw to rub the last of the sleep crusted around his eyes and breathed again, more slowly. It was refreshing, the fresh post-snowstorm air.

 _Blizzard,_ he reminded himself. Really, he hadn't been through either, but something so ferocious could only be called a blizzard.

Everyone said that things looked better in the morning, but Cloudtuft just felt fear when he saw vast, nearly empty land.

Nothing magical happened between sunset and sunrise.

Nothing changed, and so nothing could be better.

He made to go in but found that he couldn't bring himself to return to the dark, musty depths of the log when this open world awaited. Surely the others wouldn't be _that_ cold, especially if he blocked any wind from getting in the log with his body.

Temptation won over; paw by paw, he made his way out, and sat comfortably on the snow that crunched beneath his feet.

He felt a little bit closer to his brother, maybe, but much further away at the same time when he saw how far the land stretched.

Grassfur had went through the same thing with the warming stone as Cloudtuft had, increasing his chances of survival, but he'd always been one to feel warmth and cold more strongly than the average RiverClanner. Either way, what good was a constant body temperature when there were so many other things that could kill him?

What if he'd been knocked unconscious, and suffocated under the snow, lying dead and frozen and buried somewhere?

What if a fox came by? No, there were no living things around, but the lack thereof was just as bad an issue; a twist of hunger in Cloudtuft's belly reminded him that it had been too long since he'd had a proper meal. If Grassfur somehow survived, he could starve to death.

What if the wind had thrown him somewhere, into a hard rock or a tree or even the ground, and his body lied somewhere broken at this very moment?

 _Oh, why did we fight? He can get nasty at times, but he's a good cat... he's my brother, for StarClan's sake. Could our last hours together really be angry words followed by silence? Why was I getting so heated at him, the cat I've grown up with all these moons, over a she-cat I've barely met?_

 _Speaking of Maplepool... what about her? Is there any hope for her at all?_

He knew for sure that she was light enough to be picked up by the wind. Plus, she was WindClan; the only chance she had of survival was staying close to Grassfur, as if that would ever happen. Even if that were the case, she'd be as likely to be alive as Grassfur, which was... not likely at all.

Cloudtuft heard a shifting-rustling from behind him, but didn't turn around, too lost in his thoughts to process it.

 _Regardless, on the next-to-nil chance that they're alive, I hope they're together._

 _Although, in that case, they might kill each other if the world doesn't get them first._

It seemed like the hatred was one-sided, but he'd seen how Maplepool had nearly exploded at Grassfur in Twolegplace. She gave off a calm, mild demeanor on the outside; still, his intuition told him that she was getting quite fed up of the russet tom's treatment, and he was never wrong when he read cats.

He couldn't, however, guess anything about what she would do when Grassfur pushed too far on the edge of her patience.

He heaved a sigh.

 _What do I do now?_

 _I'm staying around until Flamepaw and Stonefall are all recovered and the cold isn't life-threatening —can't tell if it still is, really— but three cats can't go to the Moon Tunnels on their own. This journey's essentially killed my brother, and I knew from the start that it was going to kill me. I thought I didn't have a choice, that I didn't care, but... it takes coming close to death to appreciate life._

 _So then what? Should I search for them? For Grassfur?_

 _I know he would do the same for me, if our places were switched._ He'd proven that time and time again in his dedicated, fruitless quest to find Sweetleaf. But Grassfur was all emotions and impulses, while Cloudtuft walked with logic and reason. Logic told him Grassfur was almost certainly dead; reason said conflicting things. On one paw, if he found his brother's body, he would get closure, and he could give him a proper burial; on the other paw, why risk his pelt trying to find the lifeless husk of a cat who had already gone to StarClan?

 _Maybe I should just go home. Or become a loner._ Ha— ironic that he had embarked on the journey to the Moon Tunnels willingly, to find friends, and was now considering becoming a _lone_ r.

 _Are friends really worth it?_

 _Maplepool_ rang in his head. She'd been well on the way to becoming a friend.

 _They seem to bring only pain..._

"Hey!"

A cheerful mew caught him by surprise.

Flamepaw was awakened, looking none the worse for her bout of unconsciousness. Her fur shivered slightly when her paws touched the snow, and she sat next to Cloudtuft. "Is Maplepool out?"

"Is she— what?"

"Out." She tilted her head at him, dappled with slightly golden light. "Only Stonefall's in there. Grassfur got lost in the blizzard, didn't he?"

"Flamepaw," he said, feeling an odd lump beginning to form in his throat. "How much do you remember?"

A frown creased her usualy upbeat features. "The snow and wind, of course... it got so bad that I couldn't see, and when I started to see black spots along with the white, I think I thought ' _Oh, frog-dung, here we go again_ ' and that means I probably blacked out. And ended up in there, somehow." She gestured with her tail to the log. "I know Grassfur was next to me and then he went tumbling— maybe he tripped, or the wind just... but I could barely keep my own self upright at that point."

Cloudtuft tried to swallow. "Grassfur is gone. So is Maplepool. The wind took her and she rammed into him and they both went... _tumbling_..."

Her eyes widened to round pools of pale green, the color of sage. "They're both gone?" She rose to her feet and started moving in a whirling, chaotic pattern across the snow. "We have to find them!" The blue-gray cat paused in her pacing, stuck her head into the log, and called for Stonefall to "wake up it's urgent!"

The gray tabby was awakened almost immediately, as proved by the _thunk_ of a head hitting wood mere heartbeats after Flamepaw's words. It took him a little longer to make his way out of the hollowed log.

Cloudtuft could see the thoughts spinning like river currents in the other tom's head behind his worried face. From the corner of his eye, he saw Flamepaw open her mouth to speak and stopped her with a wave of his tail. He thought Stonefall might be able to come to the right conclusions on his own, maybe even _wanted_ to do it on his own, and the white cat was curious to see if he could do it.

All the figuring-out happened without a word spoken aloud. It was vaguely uncomfortable for Cloudtuft and downright strange to Flamepaw —she was watching the ThunderClan cat with a quizzical gaze, then looking away, stealing glances of him with eyes quick as minnows— but he held tight. Stonefall was used to silence, well acquainted with it; he probably didn't even notice it with all the things that were buzzing in his head.

He hoped he was reading the gray cat right.

And it seemed he was, because after what felt like eons, Stonefall spoke.

"Maplepool and Grassfur?"

Cloudtuft and Flamepaw exchanged glances. _Is that a where-are-Maplepool-and-Grassfur or...?_

A beat of only slightly awkward quiet.

"They're the ones that got blown away, Imean," the tabby rushed to explain upon realizing that whatever was going on in his head was unheard by the other two. "Maplepool crashed into Grassfur." His final statement sounded stronger than a usual Stonefall-ism, perhaps fortified by his thoughts.

Flamepaw was notably impressed, if still slightly confused; her ears pricked forward towards him and her pelt rippled. Cloudtuft told himself not to worry about the young she-cat, who was bright and could puzzle it out on her own.

They had more important things to do.

"What are we waiting for, then? Let's go find them!"

The bright she-cat's optimism was heartbreaking. How would they ever find two missing cats in this vast land of snow? How would she react if they _did_ find them, with their bodies stiff and cold?

"There's nothing we can do for them right now," he said, because it was true. When Flamepaw started to protest, he said, "We could look for them, but it won't do them any good of we drop dead of hunger or cold halfway through. You all need to recover first."

"I'm recovered," the apprentice insisted, casting a brief glance at the gash on her flank. Cloudtuft followed her gaze. The wound was clean and closed, but still an angry red. "Dog scratches aren't that bad; their claws are blunter than ours. It's the bites you need to watch out for. You didn't get bitten, I don't think, Stonefall?"

"No," mumbled the gray cat, ducking his head.

"Are you all right?" Her normally brisk, bursting-with-energy tone was gentler now as she regarded him with guilt and pain coursing through her body in small signs. Cloudtuft noticed the slight downward tilt of her head, the shifting of her paws, the twitching of her tail. _It_ was _her who caused it... no, I think it's more about how she didn't jump down to fight with him and stayed in the tree instead._ He didn't know the details of what had happened between them, but he could fill in the gaps.

"'m okay."

"Sure?"

A nod.

Slowly, she turned from him, and faced Cloudtuft again, ears twitching. "We're all good, see?"

"I was talking more along the lines of eating and resting," he responded, slightly amused despite the situation.

"Pfff, who needs food?" she joked breezily, then grew serious again. "Cloudtuft, it's _Grassfur_ and _Maplepool_. Of all the cats, I thought you—"

"You two are just as important," he interrupted. "It won't make a difference if we find them now or later." He paused, then forced out the blatant lie. "They're not kits. They can fend for themselves."

Stonefall opened his mouth and inhaled as if to speak, then clamped it shut again. Cloudtuft had a sense of déjà vu and remembered the same thing happening, the first night of the journey, but with Grassfur. _How did he get Stonefall to talk, again?_

But he didn't need to do anything; it was Flamepaw's look of curiosity that made Stonefall crack. " _We're_ not kits," he said —nearly whispered— to Cloudtuft. "Don't lie to us."

 _Stonefall! I'm happy you're... sharing your opinions, finally, but did it really have to be against me when I need you both to_ believe _these lies? It's hopeless. They're dead. I just don't want for Flamepaw to get hurt. What am I supposed to do?_

 _Search for them; they could still be alive,_ whispered something in his heart.

But something made him push the thought away.

"First, we hunt, and calibrate our surroundings. Then we'll see," he said slowly.

Flamepaw looked conflicted, struggling between two sides of herself, before she dipped her head in a gesture of acceptance.

The sun had risen fully; the day had dawned into a frosty blue-gold. Wind, a gentler cousin of the monster that had chased them last night, blew at their fur. Flamepaw tilted her muzzle toward the breeze, as if greeting an old friend. Stonefall tasted the air, an odd, almost peaceful expression on his face.

For all of them, the last tendrils of the blizzard's horrors began to ebb away.

Their situation hadn't changed much; they were still three of five, still battered and broken and lost, still possibly about to die...

But Cloudtuft closed his blue eyes, drank in the sunlight, and decided to change his previous thoughts.

 _Curious..._

 _Somehow,_ he mused, _despite the circumstances, it seems like things look just the slightest bit better in the morning._


	16. Pause

**Chapter Sixteen**

Morning's light helped her see, but all that did was make the circumstances seem even worse.

She'd been awake since it was still dark out. First she had coughed up water, mouthfuls and lungfuls of water. Then she had laid still, on her side, heart thumping so hard it could have burst out of her chest like a terrified bird from its nest, and she swore she could feel it pounding on her ribs, trying to break free of the bones that encaged it. She couldn't move; she knew only fear and darkness and confusion. Memories of snow and cold and wind swirled around in her brain like ragged fallen leaves.

Slowly, as dawk broke, they fell into place.

Unsteadily, Maplepool rose to her paws.

Her entire body ached; her pelt had been heavy with water, but it had since dried under the soft heat of the sun. The side she had been laying on was soaked with sticky mud and she tried to shake it off, to no avail. Her brain protested when she moved up too quickly, and she swayed on her paws, seeing black spots. Then it cleared, and she saw before her a broken land, full of trees with snapped branches and windblown debris.

Behind her gushed a river, burbling peacefully along.

A river?

She didn't remember a river.

The only thing there had been last night was brown earth and sparse foliage.

Come to think of it, there were no trees...

Maplepool spun around in a circle.

 _Where am I? Where is everyone?_

Fear dug its cold claws into her pelt, her muscles, her heart, piercing its way through her very soul. A chill ran up her spine; she was completely and utterly alone.

 _How did I get here? Why am I not dead?_

There was no snow on the ground at all, nor did it feel extraordinarily cold.

"Cloudtuft?" she called aloud; his name was the first that came to mind. Her voice was raspy from disuse and cracked on the second syllable. She cleared her throat and tried again, with a different name. "Flamepaw?"

Only silence, and the rushing river.

When she had first awakened, there was at least the sound of life; a long cricket or two chirping, the rustling of bushes. Now there was nothing.

"Stonefall," said Maplepool tentatively. She paused, then tried the last name. "Grassfur."

No response; of course, she hadn't really expected one.

Wryly, she thought she was glad Bearclaw hadn't come with them; he'd be worried sick.

 _So there was a blizzard last night. That's real, at least._

 _The wind swept me off my feet... and I rammed into Grassfur._

Grassfur! Of all the cats. He hadn't had reason to hate her previously, even though he so obviously did, but now she thought he would be justified in his anger. _If I'm not with the others, I doubt he is, either._

Being alone scared her.

She needed to start moving.

She also needed to gather her wits first, because there were three directions she could go in and only one would be right.

 _I think I got thrown against something hard after that and it knocked me out._ That was the only likely explanation; there was a gap in her memory between being tossed by the wind and ending up here.

It had been like flying, for a brief wonderful moment, but if you flew you were the one in control, and that most certainly had not been the case for her. Powerless against the wind, she had let it take her body and throw it to its delight.

 _It's impossible for me to have gotten windblown all the way to where there's a river, when there was no river in sight earlier. Did I sleepwalk? It's happened before... but that was a long time ago._ She shook her head subconsciously and stuffed it into the corner of her mind where all the darker things lurked. It was a ridiculous notion, anyhow; the only evidence for that was how incredibly sore she was. _I must have gotten here by the river; I coughed up water and my fur was waterlogged._

It seemed incredible that plain old water was powerful enough to send a cat so far away, but Maplepool had reason not to underestimate water, especially flowing water. She shifted that thought into the dark corner also, and studied the river. _Calm. Don't panic. Focus. You can figure this out._

The water was flowing to the right. If right was downstream, and right was the direction of the river, that was the direction she had been going. The opposite direction would be the source of the river, which still made no sense; wouldn't she have noticed a river-source last night if there was one? How far away was she, really?

She was tempted to move closer to the river, but changed her mind and drew back. Maplepool inhaled, breathing in the air. It smelled like RiverClan, reeds and fish and algae and peat.

 _Wait...!_

There was something in the earth...

The mottled she-cat crouched down, amber eyes widening. She was so close to the ground that her nose touched the soft, wet mud.

 _Pawprints!_

There were cat pawprints heading upstream.

What was there to do but follow? Pawprints meant cats, cats meant company and safety; if she walked fast enough, she could catch up. The prints couldn't be that old, else the river would have washed it away.

 _Speaking of wash, I need to wash my fur._

It would be convenient, easy, fast, to step into the river and let it wash all the mud off of her body... but Maplepool took one look at the running water and took three steps backwards. She had a tongue. She could clean herself. Feeling slightly disappointed in herself, as if she shouldn't be so vain as to groom when there were more important things to do, she started to get the sticky stuff off her pelt. She told herself that it wasn't because she cared about how she looked, but more about the fact that she couldn't stand the feeling of having a substance caked on her fur.

When the fawn-ginger could be seen clearly through the brown, the she-cat decided enough was enough and got to following.

Following the footprints was easy. The hard part was things like keeping an eye out for danger.

And food.

Maplepool felt incredibly hungry.

If she wanted to catch up to whoever had made the prints, she needed to run, but she didn't know if she had enough energy. The worst thing she could do was collapse and black out in this foreign place.

 _I mean, I'll probably be able to tell that I'm tired before I'm on the very brink of exhaustion,_ she reasoned to herself, and readied her muscles to run.

Running was a comfort; it reminded her of racing Bearclaw across WindClan, doing stamina excercises while a warrior watched on, chasing rabbits while weaving past tall grass. Running was familiar, running was home, running was warmth and safety.

The smooth mud beneath her paws still wasn't the powder-sand texture of the moors she missed so much, but it was much better than rough Twolegplace or gravelly field. She took great strides, her tail tilted just the right way to increase her speed just that bit much, her paws barely touching the ground before they sprang up to move forward again.

It was like this that she ran, until the sky was no longer pink-orange-gold but a gentle blue, paler on the horizon. The world grew less broken as she went on. Now, it was a sparse forest of evergreens, much less dense than ShadowClan territory, and the soil was reminicent of the soft, water-washed land near RiverClan's gorge. Stray tufts of lush green grass dotted the pale brown-gray earth. This forest was alive yet peaceful at the same time, as if creatures of all sorts lived together in harmony, barely hidden behind the pine trees and sharp-edged stones.

And then the prints stopped.

No, they hadn't just stopped; they had changed direction, but Maplepool had missed it because she'd been moving so quickly. She sank her paws into the mud, its stickiness helping her break quickly, and turned around to retrace her steps. She hadn't gone ahead by much; a few moments was all it took to find the other set of pawprints and follow them more carefully until she was no longer on mud, but fine, slightly damp dirt.

The pawprints faded until there were none at all; the ground was too firm to allow any marks to take place.

At this point, though, Maplepool no longer needed it.

She had found his scent.

 _Grassfur._

Had he been washed ashore before her, or had he simply left her by the river and gone off on his own? Either way, they were caught up now. He must be sleeping; she doubted that he'd gotten very much rest these last tumultuous days. None of them had, really.

Maplepool was not sure how she felt about this.

It was Grassfur, a cat she knew, a Clan cat, Cloudtuft's brother, an ally of sorts, a cat who had the same goals as her— right now, at least. But it was Grassfur, a cat who hated her with the intensity of a thousand suns, a cat who had probably left her to die just hours ago, a cat she couldn't stand who in turn couldn't stand her.

She shook her fur out, fluffing it up. It didn't matter. She had found _someone_ , and she wasn't letting him leave without her.

The fawn-and-ginger cat followed the scent —slightly fishy, hints of smoke like Twolegplace— to its source. A clump of ferns hid a russet, spiky-pelted body. Grassfur was sleeping; she peered at him with a small flash of worry, because he did not sleep like any other cat she knew. He was stiff, breathing shallowly, his legs extended and frozen in place. The tom seemed almost paralyzed, were it not for the occasional, abrupt twitching of his paws. His claws were unsheathed and gleamed dangerously under the sunlight. A strange heat was emanating from him; it wasn't hot, not really, but just felt that way because of the cold leaf-bare air that surrounded them.

Maplepool hesitated. Should she wake him up? What if he attacked? How was she going to go about doing this?

She didn't think she'd be able to wait until he awakened on his own; none of them had gotten very much sleep. Her own eyes stung and felt slightly bleary with the lack of rest. If she slept, too, he'd probably get up before she did and leave her again, this time hiding his tracks better if he _really_ didn't want to see her.

 _So I ought to just grit my teeth and do it._

She'd been through unpleasant situations before.

Tentatively, she said his name.

He stirred but did not wake.

"Grassfur!" Sharper, louder, more insistent.

He jerked upwards in a flying motion, rising to his paws like an angry fox, graceful and frenzied all at once.

"It's you!" Grassfur gasped, flanks heaving wildly, mouth open and seizing great surges of air. His golden eyes were clouded, and he looked quite disoriented.

"It's me, Maplepool," the mottled she-cat said warily.

They stared at each other for a long moment, him not processing anything in front of him, her incredibly bewildered. The fog that obscured his face slowly began to melt away, and now his gaze was sharp and hawklike, a fiery gold that burned so harshly she was surprised she didn't turn to ashes right then and there.

"Maplepool?" He looked vaguely puzzled, slightly scathing, a million other indescribable emotions that ranged across the entire spectrum of hatred and disbelief.

"...Yes?"

"What are you doing here?" the russet tom snapped suddenly, falling into a more conventional Grassfur-esque personality.

"I followed your pawprints."

"Why can't you just _leave me alone?_ " he snarled. "I saved your blasted pelt from the river, all right? Is that not enough?"

"What are you talking about?" Maplepool would have bristled at his anger, but she was too distracted by his words to care. _Saved me?_

"You think you, a WindClan cat, would be able to get to shore? I had to drag you out of the river," Grassfur hissed, lashing his tail. His expression suggested that there was a lot more to the tale than he was interested in telling her.

"If you hate me so much, why not just leave me to die?"

She was sick of him, tired of the way he tried to treat her, and she had half a mind to go off on her own and leave him there, just the way he had left her. _Why do I want this cat with me anyway? I'd be better off alone._ But Maplepool did not go off on her own, or act horrible to cats in general, or do stupid things. Chances of survival would be higher with another cat around. Logic won; the little rebellious voice in her receded.

"I'm not _evil_." He glared at her with eyes sharp as thorns. "I can't just let a cat die. I just personally have a very intense dislike of you. My brother, on the other paw, likes you..."

The she-cat couldn't help herself. "I thought you two weren't speaking?" It was a question disguised by an innocent tone, but was meant to be somewhere between mock curiosity and insulting sneer, like poisoned honey.

Somehow, that hit him hard, and he continued to scowl at her without speaking. She regretted the jibe as soon as it had come out of her mouth. _Maplepool doesn't provoke cats on purpose, either._ Although she had already provoked him _not_ on purpose, by means of which she did not know, so it probably didn't make much of a difference.

"We both have the same goals," she said, forcing her voice to remain calm and stony. "It would be more feasible to work together and foolish to not."

"And what would you know of my goals?" she thought she heard him mutter, but his face was turned away from her, looking upstream, and she couldn't be sure. Finally, he turned back to her, positively sparking with outrage Heartbeats passed, and then he started walking the direction he had been going without a word. Maplepool stared after the RiverClan tom, uncomprehending.

When he was a few foxlengths away from her, he said without turning around, "If you're not going to come with me, I don't care!"

That was a roundabout way of saying that he'd changed his mind about wanting to be left alone, not to mention downright mean-spirited— although Grassfur was always unpleasant, so that didn't count for much. Still, the mottled cat trailed after him, pushing away indignant thoughts about having to follow a cat who disrespected her so.

 _Neither of us want to work together._

 _It's just a_ must do it _kind of thing, isn't it?_

Alone, she had no clear plan. Grassfur seemed to think, like her, that since they had been swept downstream, it would be best to go against the flow of the river and follow it to its source. She still wasn't sure about that whole idea; even if they were able to reach the beginning of the river, that wouldn't be where the others were.

Maplepool worried over the rest of her group, Cloudtuft and Flamepaw and Stonefall, who were so far away. There was a chance that she would never see them again; the word was vast and dangerous.

It wasn't nearly as cold right now as it had been last night. Had the weather changed that quickly, or were they so far away that the climate was different? She remembered layers and layers of white snow, yet the only thing beneath her paws was damp soil.

 _Well, if it gets colder, we'll know we're heading in the right place._

Somehow, she found that it was a great morale boost to start thinking _we_ instead of _I_ , even though in this case the pronoun would better be replaced with _that cat, and also me_ , because Maplepool and Grassfur were entirely separate entities who wanted absolutely nothing to do with each other.

 _But how are the others faring, when they_ are _at that cold place?_ She felt a tremor of fear. _They could have frozen to death... gotten blown off, too, now that I think about it..._ Anything could have happened, and she might never know; similarily, they might never know her own fate.

At least someone would.

She cast a sideways glance at Grassfur, who looked quite determined to ignore her. He was a mystery; he was everything she could never be, never wanted to be. He was an abyss filled to the brim with emotions. She'd seen only the tip of the iceberg not too long ago, when he had just awakened. Seeing the russet tom so vulnerable made her discomforted, and a few remnants of the uneasy feeling remained curled up in her stomach.

He was overwhelming.

He hated her, and she should hate him return, but she didn't hate cats.

He snapped at her, and she had forsworn ever doing so, but he'd gotten so close to making her do it— succeeded, if she counted her outburst in Twolegplace.

She had made promises, made promises she'd upheld ever since they came to be, and he was so precariously close to making her break all of them, shatter every single rule she'd set so meticulously for herself.

"Have you eaten?" Maplepool inquired with the mildest, most detachedly polite voice she could muster.

Grassfur paused, as if considering whether to ignore her question or not, then swiveled his head around to eye her. "Of course."

"I didn't expect there to be food around, that's all."

He stared, speaking scornfully. "There are fish. In the river."

She gaped at him. "No way! Fish in the river, who knew? Wow. Incredible." The she-cat allowed her voice to drip with sarcasm, which gave her a brief amount of satisfaction plus no guilt attached since she wasn't being outright rude. _It still makes me feel like I'm going against... oh, forget it._

The russet cat was looking at her with a grudging sort of interest, well disguised behind his glowering. "I'm not waiting for you if you're going to eat."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"What, can't fish?"

"What, expect a WindClan cat to fish?"

"If you're hungry, you'll fish."

In all honesty, she wouldn't deliberately get so close to water to save her life, but she didn't need to give Grassfur an actual flaw to pick on along with all the other issues he had towards her. "I don't think it's that easy," she replied instead.

He snorted, stopped abruptly, and padded to the riverside. Maplepool found herself watching his fluid movements as he crouched, holding himself with a confident, practiced air as his muscles were drawn taught and ready to strike like a spring.

His paw shot out, lightning-fast, and unsheathed claws hooked a silvery-yellow fish out of the water. Cold droplets splashed and sprayed Maplepool's fur; she stepped back to dodge them, but moved the wrong way and got slapped in the face by a freshly killed fish.

"Easy," Grassfur said with a careless roll of his shoulders. The brief flash of surprise on his face suggested that he had not meant to hit her, but the lack of repentance or an apology showed that he was pretty okay with how that had turned out.

"...Thank you?" Maplepool said, because it was what you were supposed to do if a cat presented you with prey.

He made an impatient noise and started walking again. For the fawn she-cat, there was not much of a struggle between following him or eating; now that food was right there, she suddenly felt ravenous.

It didn't matter that it was fish when what she really wanted was a nice, plump rabbit. It was food, that was what it was— pungent-smelling, tasting of mud and reeds, but still food.

She dug in, pulling slimy pieces of fish off the bones and swallowing the scraps. Still slightly anxious about being left alone, she glanced upwards midway through eating to see how far away Grassfur was and how fast she'd have to go to catch up.

He wasn't walking.

He'd sat down a fair distance from her, paws tucked neatly in, as if expecting to be there for a little while. He had his back to her, head defiantly turned away, tail tapping the ground absently like he couldn't cease moving... but despite the little twitches and motions, Grassfur had altogether _stopped._

His words echoed in her mind: _I'm not waiting for you._

And he was waiting.


	17. Discovery

**Chapter Seventeen**

Cold was wonderful.

To Flamepaw, it was a waker-upper, a grab-you-by-the-paws-and-flip-you-upright kind of thing. The frost in the air made her feel more alive as blood coursed through her body with zeal to keep her warm; the snow on the ground kept her on her toes, hopping and jumping and crunching over the tiny shards of ice. Cold made her senses sharpen and gave her brain a kickstart, cold was puissant, cold was unrestrained energy. Cold was as lively and passionate as fire, if not even more, simply for how _unexpected_ it was.

The blue-gray cat thought she was in tip-top shape, despite the wound on her side (which still ached, a sort of numb background aching) and her second encounter with being unconscious not too long ago.

Right now, she could do anything; she could take on the Twolegplace dog, chase away the blizzard, catch a thousand doves—

That was, if there were any doves to catch.

She wasn't sure if this barren land was always heavy with famine, or if the winds and snow of leaf-bare had gotten rid of all the prey. Either way, there was no prey in sight.

The three cats had decided to stick together in their search for food; they would cover less land, but at least they'd be able to keep an eye on each other. Cloudtuft in particular had been concerned over her and Stonefall, seeing as they didn't have his weird magical self-temperature-regulating thing.

"That's just _sad,_ " Flamepaw had informed the white tom after he had given them the details about how they were able to survive the blizzard, including a full disclosure of one of RiverClan's gifts.

"Saved your lives, didn't it?" he'd responded wryly.

"That's true," she amended, "but it's still, ah... what do you call it? Peculiar. Odd. Queer." She had proceeded to reel off a flurry of synonyms for _weird_ , but in the end she had been bested by Stonefall, who suddenly decided to speak up and offer his own two whiskers into the conversation:

"Idiosyncratic?"

 _Oh, Stonefall._

He confused her, every part of him, from his everlasting bouts of silence to the way he seemed almost scared to share his thoughts. Sometimes he would surprise her, too, like just then with his _idiosyncratic_ or his _Maplepool and Grassfur?_ that he'd figured out without any words at all, or even back to yesterday.

 _Don't you dare come down, or I'll shred you myself._

It kept spinning circles in her mind, the little piece of a different Stonefall, a window into the way she suspected he was with his familiar cats of ThunderClan: caring, fiercely protective.

He was a curiosity.

Unfortunately, there was no time for curiosities right now, not when the jaws of death were a constant presence looming over them. She had to hunt, she had to get everyone to go searching for the others —why Cloudtuft was so adamantly against it she didn't know— and she had to formulate some sort of game plan to get them all back on the way to the tunnels. The thoughts never ceased racing around in her head, spinning themselves as if trying to turn into a idea.

In the forefront of her head was prey, as her nose sniffed and her eyes narrowed to search. On the sides were Grassfur and Maplepool, the cats blown away; how would they find them when snow had washed out all their traces? Taking up a concerning amount of her back-thoughts was Stonefall; smaller, Cloudtuft, then the everlasting threats and mysteries of the Moon Tunnels, then Darkstar and ShadowClan and home, all synonymous with each other.

"What food do you think would be around here?" Flamepaw asked, quietly so she didn't startle anything. Maybe she _should_ actually be loud and startle _everything,_ so prey would magically start bouncing out from the snow. It'd be better than the blank, empty land that stretched before them, in any case.

Although... the melting snow sparkled in the morning light, glittering like crystals, and it was pretty in a fresh, different way from the cool, dark shade of ShadowClan territory.

It wasn't so bad.

Flamepaw had never seen snow before. Everyone else told her that it had snowed once or twice after she was born, but she didn't remember any of it. Snow was one of the many things she'd been excited to experience on the journey, and here it was! It had nearly killed her, just like the Twolegplace she'd also been eager to see, but that wasn't the important part.

"Well, it's not like any or us have been here before," Cloudtuft answered with an amused noise. "It's not been a day; I don't know this land enough to tell. Probably not birds, at least— not enough trees."

A strange shape caught Flamepaw's eye and she bounded over towards it, but once she prodded the heap of snow with a paw, it collapsed unceremoniously into a drooping pile of slush. Bemused, she sniffed at it, then flicked her tongue out to further examine any scents. There was nothing but cold and wet.

The group made their way across the land, the she-cat straying further and further from the others as clusters of snow or debris caught her eye. Each time she went to investigate something that stuck out against the desert of snow, she was disappointed; not a single speck of life besides the cats themselves was in sight. There was a bundle of shriveled brambles here, a few tufts of wilted grass there, even a rather pretty rock, but nothing of interest.

After about seven times of this, Flamepaw felt her heart jump as she saw the most interesting thing of all— the land sloped upward, like a hill, a little remniscnent of the cliff they had sheltered by the first night but less steep. She dashed towards it, leaving the other two far behind her, tail waving behind her like a flag. Cheerfully, she clawed her way up to the top. High places were _wonderful;_ there was no limit to what she would be able to see up there! Excitement coursed through her, bright and bold and invigorating. For a few brief seconds, Flamepaw felt as if she were on top of the world; she was the highest thing there was, perched regal and proud like Darkstar on the Clanrock.

Then her paws slipped, and she went tumbling down.

Her muscles were already tensing to spring back up, but she didn't hit solid ground. The blue-white-gold, snow-and-sky, open world spun away from view and then all she saw was darkness, then soil, darkness and soil together as she skidded on rough earth, pulled by gravity's claws. The apprentice opened her jaws in an alarmed yowl and got a mouthful of unpleasantly cold dirt and ice. For a brief, terrifying moment, she was about to choke; then she spewed out the matter, coughing, and gasped to reach put and swallow just plain snow this time to wash the taste of earth out of her mouth and throat. All she got was air. She heard a voice call out her name, close yet far away, as if muffled.

She had fallen only for moments, but it had felt like much longer. Now her head rested on lukewarm, moist ground, slightly stale and musky—

 _No._

 _It's_ under _ground._

The realization was almost immediate— what else could it be? Winded, Flamepaw got to her paws, righting herself as her eyes adjusted to the low light. The achey scratch on her side was beginning to hurt in earnest now, after being half-numbed by the cold for so long.

A bit of soil was was sprinkling onto her pelt, disturbed by the sudden appearance of a cat when it had so long been resting undisturbed. The ShadowClan cat felt right at home in the dim surroundings but entirely out of the place at the same time; this place was not meant for a creature like her, and it carried some stale scent that said _danger_ and _mine_. In front of her, there was a hole... no, an _entrance_ to this... den _?_

Her weight must have caused the snow hiding the hole, frozen over like a shield, to collapse and reveal the underground hideout. Flamepaw turned her back to the outside world and looked deeper inwards; it didn't stop like a den, but went in even further and lower, like a tunnel.

 _What is this?_

She took a tentative step forward.

"Flamepaw!" The blue-gray she-cat heard her name again; this time, she could make the voice out to be Stonefall's, desperate and a little soft, a little high. She heard two sets of pawsteps thumping above her, one light-footed, the other more solid, and turned back around.

"I'm here," she croaked, then hacked out a cough that brought a bit of residual dirt with it. Flamepaw tried again, voice cleared. "Everything's all right!"

 _Maybe even better than all right!_ For the first time since leaving Twolegplace, she didn't feel _cold_ anymore. Underground was warmth and shelter... shelter that they needed almost as much as food.

"Where are you?" Cloudtuft's voice rang out.

Flamepaw popped her head out of the wide entrance. "Cloudtuft, there is a _really freaking big hole_ right in front of your nose. Where do you _think_ I am?" Her words were playful and she twitched her whiskers, spirits lightened by the discovery.

The white tom jumped surprisingly high into the hair, thick pelt bushed up. "I didn't _see_ you, _Shadow_ Clan cat," he protested good-naturedly.

A gray shape fell from the sky to land next to Cloudtuft. Stonefall must have been on the high spot above the entrance, and Flamepaw briefly wondered if he'd felt the same way as she had when she stood up there before pushing the arbitrary thought away.

"What's that?" the tabby breathed, green eyes rounding and pupils growing wider as he stared into the darkness of the tunnel.

"A tunnel!" Flamepaw answered cheerfully, using her best guess. "Not the Moon Tunnels, but hey, we've made it to _a_ tunnel!" She grinned at him, wanting to see him smile again, but he was currently fixated on the mystery of the place. The she-cat suspected neither her words nor her expression were noticed.

"That's not just any tunnel," Cloudtuft meowed seriously as he took in the area. All traces of humor had disappeared from his face. "That's a—

 _"—fox burrow_." Stonefall finished the white tom's sentence, his mouth slightly open to taste the air.

Now it was Flamepaw's turn to jump, but personally she thought she handled the surprise quite well and was only _slightly_ frantic in scrambling out of the burrow and landing at Stonefall's paws. The ThunderClan cat took a step back, alarmed; she returned to standing position with as dignified and Darkstar-y an air as she could muster. _Hm. Thinking about it, there's not much reason to have been spooked; if the fox was here right now, I'd already be mousedust._

"I didn't smell any fox," she said cautiously.

 _Or did I?_

That slight stale scent that clung to the soil... was it fox?

Flamepaw did not have much experience with foxes; they didn't enjoy the wet swamplands of ShadowClan. She could see why, if this thing really did belong to a fox. There was no way to dig such a structurally sound thing in their territory, seeing as it was all mud and peat.

Cloudtuft sighed. "This will either be the best or worst decision I've made on this journey, but I think we should go in."

The prospect of entering a fox burrow with the knowledge that is was a fox burrow was thrillingly terrifying.

"W—" Stonefall made a sound, swallowed, and turned it into a word. "Why?"

"See, I didn't identify it by scent —although you probably did— but by appearance. I can hardly smell any fox either," said Cloudtuft, with an agreeable nod of his head towards Flamepaw. "It must be old. No longer in use, hopefully."

" _Hopefully,_ " Flamepaw echoed.

"The fox certainly wasn't here during the blizzard. Either it's got a better home, or it got caught in the storm, which means it's probably dead." Cloudtuft's logic seemed to embolden his own self, and he took a pawstep towards the burrow's entrance. "We can shelter here instead of that old log. You guys coming?"

Stonefall had a pained grimace on his face as he shuffled to the burrow himself and nodded.

"Count me in, then!" Revived by the idea of exploring and proper shelter, Flamepaw bounced back into the tunnel.

Something in Cloudtuft's words had stirred one of the thoughts that she'd put to the side. Maybe it was him talking about bad decisions, or blizzards, or death, but their two missing cats sprang back into her mind with full force.

"Cloudtuft!" she exclaimed.

"Yes!" He matched her tone, sounding puzzled.

"We've technically gone hunting— as soon as we're through checking out the tunnel, are we going to look for Grassfur and Maplepool?"

"I also said _calibrate our surroundings_ , didn't I? We're doing that right now," Cloudtuft said evasively as he padded down the tunnel. "So we'll talk about it after."

He was hiding something from her, she was almost certain of it, but she couldn't come up with anything besides _he-got-rid-of-them-himself_ and that was just ridiculous. What was there to conceal? There were simply lost cats who needed finding, but for some reason, Cloudtuft didn't want to find them. Stonefall had accused him of lying— what was it he had said, again, to warrant such an allegation from the softspoken tabby? Something about the two being able to survive on their own.

 _Is that a lie?_

 _Realistically, yes; I shouldn't expect two cats to survive in a blizzard, but I wouldn't expect us to have survived either, if that was the case. If Grassfur helps out Maplepool, they could make it; he has that magical RiverClan warm pelt thing._

She eyed Cloudtuft as they walked down the tunnel, wondering how two littermates could be so different.

 _And he's good at heart, I think. Why wouldn't he help her?_ She felt hopeful about their chances as a faint memory stirred in her mind: Grassfur said thank you. That one time. To Stonefall, anyway; the gray tabby had a peculiar effect on all of them, it seemed, from softening the russet cat's anger to making Flamepaw feel incredibly confused. _When the situation calls for it, I think he would take care of her._

 _Does Maplepool need taking care of?_ she wondered suddenly. _From the cold, yes; beyond that, I have no clue. She held her own against the dog, but she was fighting in a group. I don't know her enough. That's fair, though— we were only together for one day, and I was unconscious plus she was kidnapped for most of it._

It surprised her every time she realized how _brief_ her time with these cats had been. This was only the second morning. Wasn't that the day Mintpaw's group had just entered Twolegplace, according to him?

Flamepaw blinked, half-glancing at Stonefall, who padded silent as a shadow slightly behind her.

She knew them —Stonefall's diffidence, Cloudtuft's humor and logic, Grassfur's prickly nature, Maplepool's quiet friendliness— but she also didn't know them at all. She couldn't tell what they were thinking, the way they felt about things secretly in their heads, how they felt about the tunnels, their favorite prey, whether or not they chased butterflies, none of the _important_ things. But it took time.

Did they know her? She was pretty sure she laid her emotions out for all to see; what was there to hide?

 _But_ , she realized with a pang, _they don't see the talented Mintpaw-and-beyond-leveled Flamepaw. They see Flamepaw who ran off and got hurt by a dog and didn't help fight it; Flamepaw who tripped and fell into a fox's hole; Flamepaw who jumped_ out _of the fox's hole all terrified without stopping to think. Featherbrained Flamepaw who needs things hidden from her, who should have had a moon of growth and experience before going on this journey._

She set her jaw. _I'll prove myself to them. We have plenty of time._

Flamepaw realized that her thoughts had strayed rather far from their point of origin, if in a good direction, and she zeroed back in on the present, taking in her surroundings.

She had been walking absently for the past few minutes, slightly aware of the throbbing pain in her flank but not much else, and they were making good time down the tunnel. They moved at a slightly nervous speed that she wasn't quite able to keep up with without limping slightly.

For a moment, she considered speaking, saying, _Hey, if this tunnel is empty, what if it was once used as food storage and there's still prey kept fresh from being buried underground?_ But the newfound realization that everyone might be seeing her as a dopey cat made her think before she spoke, and she decided not to; she didn't know enough about foxes or their burrows. Maybe they didn't even bury their prey, or maybe it wouldn't keep so far underground. ShadowClan never buried _their_ prey. And besides, what fox would abandon a hole that had food, especially in leaf-bare? And what prey existed in this sad, barren, lifeless land?

So nothing was spoken.

 _If I keep second-guessing myself like this, I'd turn mute!_

 _Wait— is this how Stonefall feels? Why he never talks?_

She didn't have to chance to dive into that remarkably intriguing thought, for they had come to a halt.

The tunnel opened into a wide, underground den, certainly enough to fit a fox or two, and snug for three cats. Dried grass and leaves were scattered in a soft, springy mass. _This must be —must have been— the fox's nest._ Smaller tunnels branched out from the den, enough for a single creature to squeeze through; Flamepaw eyed them curiously.

"This is _amazing_ ," Cloudtuft breathed in wonder.

 _Oh, it is._ But not only for the perfect shelter it offered. There was more to it then that.

The fox's burrow was _new_ , it was _exciting_ , it was the very thing that Flamepaw was seeking on this journey. Underground was a whole 'nother world that she hadn't even dreamed of back in ShadowClan. It was a cozy world, a safe world, all warm earth and shadowy den, a stark contrast to the rough, blinding-sunlight atmosphere of yesterday's Twolegplace. _I'm really here. I'm really exploring, learning, seeing everything there is beyond home. What else will lie ahead?_

Once again, Flamepaw's inquisitive nature got the better of her, and she made her way to one of the smaller tunnels, stepping carefully over the old nest. It was dark; as her eyes adjusted to the light, she could scent something...

"Prey!" _I was right! Ah, should've said it. Oh well._

"Prey?" Cloudtuft bounded over, whiskers twitching as he inhaled.

Flamepaw clambered into the tunnel, feeling with her paws and muzzle more than seeing. She felt vaguely claustrophobic during the brief trip inwards, but it was worth it when her front feet landed in a pile of soft fur: mouse.

Underground was warm, compared to the snowy outside world, but would also have been cool enough to store prey during what could have been a hot green-leaf. Heart swelling with hope, she felt around in the pile until all the mice —two— were tucked gently into her jaws, and she backed out of the tunnel carefully, tail-first.

Cloudtuft's eyes widened with joy when she emerged with the treasure. Flamepaw deposited the prey carefully on the ground.

"A food cache," he said. "Foxes bury their food like ThunderClan. Sometimes, back home, we'd find one and dig it up."

"We've got food now! Where's Stonefall?" she asked. The white tom flicked his tail towards one of the other tunnels. They waited keenly, but the gray tabby exited empty-mouthed.

"Only bones," he meowed. "Decomposed." His gaze fell on the mice, and his ears pricked up with barely concealed delight.

 _How old is this place? How long does it take food to break down in the best conditions?_

 _And why would the fox just... leave?_

"We can get all of the other tunnels later," Cloudtuft said, authoritative. "We don't know how much is actually here; food is still an issue, so we should ration it carefully, until we find a proper source of prey."

"Agreed," Flamepaw mewed. She looked to Stonefall, who had been watching her and gave a start when she turned to him. He nodded, which she assumed was his vote of agreement as well.

They split the mice as evenly as they could. Two mice between three cats was much less than a single rabbit between five like they'd had yesterday, just enough to survive on. Flamepaw's share was stale, but definitely edible, and she didn't care at this point; she tore into the tough flesh with relish. Still, she longed for a good frog or toad to fill her belly and wondered how their resident RiverClan cat felt eating all this forest prey, when RiverClan diets tended to be strictly fish.

"So, shelter?" Stonefall's hopeful mew echoed through the den once he had finished his share. Flamepaw thought she might have heard a nervous tremor in his words.

"Looks like it!" Cloudtuft purred, getting to his feet to bury his prey bones and surveying the area one more time. His sky-blue gaze fell on Flamepaw, who was watching him expectantly. _No more excuses, pal,_ she thought.

"Consider our surroundings calibrated," she said, prompting him. "And prey, er, found."

"I think we should stay here, then, and wait for the other two to come to us." said Cloudtuft, his words careful and calculated, belied by the slightly-too-long paused between them. Before Flamepaw could get in a protest, he went on. "They're the ones who got lost from us, not us from them; they'll be looking for us, and if we go search as well, chances are we'll miss each other. Snow swallows up a lot of scents."

"Which means it's swallowed up _our_ scents!" exclaimed the apprentice. "How do you expect them to find us?"

"The same way you expect them to survive."

This gave her pause.

Of _course_ they would survive— how bad could wind be, really? The small dash of fear tinging them memory of the blizzard had all but faded from her mind. They probably weren't that far away. But, then, that meant the two cats would be looking for them right now, and how would they find each other?

There was really no way to go, no strategy that could get them out of this. They just had to wait and hope, according to Cloudtuft, and she could see the logic in that... but while hoping was all fine and well, Flamepaw was a _doer_. Waiting was not in her vocabulary, unless it was waiting for prey to hop to just the right spot.

She felt trapped, cornered, as the reality of the situation closed in on her.

 _Either we find them, or they find us._

 _I want to be the one to find them, but then both parties would be trying, like Cloudtuft said, and we might miss each other entirely. The land stretches so far..._

"Faith, I guess," she said, suddenly feeling very tired. "Fine. Okay. All right. We'll... wait."

"It's all we have," Cloudtuft responded, the look on his face suggesting that he didn't have very much faith at all. _He's given up,_ Flamepaw thought, the first few strands of despair beginning to nestle themselves into her own pelt. She hadn't felt so simply _out of control_ before; all her life, if you did good things, you got good results, and all happenings were directly correlated with what you chose to do. _And now we can't do anything, we can't change anything, we just have to hope and wait and wait and wait. They can't have gotten that far, can they?_

The white tom continued. "And if they don't come back—"

"They will," she said fiercely. _They better._

"We'll wait... a quarter moon for them at most," he said. "One week. That should be plenty."

 _Only took one night to be separated, so a week is more than enough._ "Sure." Flamepaw had barely gotten the word out before she was cut off by a strange noise.

It had come from Stonefall, but she had already moved to his side before even realizing fully that it was him. The gray cat had wandered off to the side of the den, studying it, and now his fur had risen on the end of his neck, bristling and giving of the slightest of fear. She followed his green gaze to the den's wall, curving concavely, and sucked in a breath.

"What's got you two all spook—" Cloudtuft cut himself off as he came over and saw the same thing they did.

Splashed across the dirt were dark brown and red splotches, dried and crusting at the edges. She'd seen it enough in her life, dotting pine trees after a messy kill, staining ShadowClan camp after warriors returned from a border skirmish, dirtying moss and cobwebs that were buried after they'd served their use. Flamepaw turned around in a circle and saw that the same discoloration was on all sides of the den, so glaringly obvious now that she'd noticed it.

Blood was splattered on the walls.


	18. Guesswork

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Whatever it was, it can't hurt us," said Cloudtuft.

The other two cats seemed incredibly skeptical about this. To prove his point, the white tom reached out with slightly unsheathed claws and scraped the dark splotches off of the fox burrow's den with a little more force than necessary. The dirt crumbled, and the dried blood came off with it.

"Hey, careful," Flamepaw protested. "We don't want a collapse."

The white tom made a noise of acknowledgement, rubbing away the last of the stains with his pawpad and patting the little mound of dirt back into the earth, as if burying prey bones. The soil was wet, a little rough, and rubbed unpleasantly against his paws.

Stonefall reached up with a white paw and flicked off what must have been a few remnants of blood that Cloudtuft hadn't noticed.

It reminded him painfully of Grassfur— his brother would be the one to do that in a heartbeat. If a warrior had been sketching out a diagram in the dirt with his claws and wiped it haphazardly after the lesson was over, Grasspaw would always hang behind to smooth out the rough marks in the soil until it was perfectly natural, with not a sliver of a claw mark left behind. Imperfections jumped out at him, as if they were just begging incessantly to be fixed, and the russet tom would curl his claws and get them back to perfect no matter how long it took.

Wordlessly Flamepaw moved to an adjacent side of the den and began rubbing; Stonefall glanced at her and did the same. Cloudtuft moved to the opposite wall and cleared out the old stains.

Soil and crusted blood fell to the ground and he buried it all, patting his feet into it until it was packed tightly away.

 _Well. At least we know there's definitely no fox._ Almost definitely, anyway; it wasn't like he could identify a creature from its bloodstains. Logically, though, this was a fox's burrow, so that would be fox's blood. No wonder the place was abandoned.

More worrying was the general idea of the blood being there. What had _caused_ it? Another creature, of course, but was it a competitor? A predator? The thought of something being able to take down a wily fox and shed so much blood was disconcerting. Maybe wounds were acquired by both parties, or just the invader, but then why would the fox have left?

There were far too many possibilities. Cloudtuft thought the was really nothing he could do about it now, no way he could find the true answer. It would have to remain a mystery. He turned to the others, but they, too, had questions.

"Are we going to stay here, still?" Flamepaw asked.

"Don't see why not," Cloudtuft answered. He needed Flamepaw to stay; she'd agreed to it, snatching him a precious seven days to convince her to give up on their lost cats. He exhaled slowly, trying to figure out how to word his next sentence. "The happenings here were long ago."

Stonefall had a slight _Is everyone here crazy?_ look on his face, once again somehow reminiscent of Grassfur, only refreshingly different in that he almost seemed to enjoy the risk-taking and didn't protest.

 _Curious cat._

"We should probably have an escape plan, in any case, unless you want to be the next bloodstains," the white tom continued, slightly dry and deadpan as he mentioned the possibility of their deaths. "Fox burrows usually have more than one entrance—"

But Stonefall had already found it.

They heard his meowing but not the words it formed, as his torso was inside one of the larger tunnels leadering away from the central den. It was certainly too big to be a prey cache, and Cloudtuft wondered how he had overlooked it before. Flamepaw trotted over to investigate and followed after the ThunderClan tabby without so much a question, leaving Cloudtuft to sigh and go after them both.

He noticed a slight wobble to the she-cat's gait as he trailed behind her, and remembered with a flash the injury she'd sustained from the dog. The white cat was surprised that he had forgotten, but it was easy to; given their circumstances, he'd had more pressing things to worry about, and Flamepaw was so energetic it was like she hadn't been wounded at all. He tried to glance at her right side to see how the gash was faring, but the tunnel was too narrow for him to look anywhere but forward.

Slowly, the tunnel began to grow lighter, and it sloped gradually upwards. He heard the _thump_ and _scrrrtch_ of paws scrabbling against earth before Stonefall sent a shower of pebbles and soil raining down towards the cats below him. Flamepaw hightailed it out of there, dodging falling dirt; Cloudtuft supposed that her fall into the burrow had been an unpleasant experience, complete with an earth-shower, and she probably wouldn't want to repeat it. He made his own way out, warily noting the steepness of the tunnel.

The time they spent underground must have been longer than it felt. The snow had all but turned to slush save for the thin frozen layer that separated it from the brown, no doubt muddy ground.

"Oh, brrr, it's cold," Flamepaw was saying, hopping on her paws. She shook her self furiously, sending a second spray of dust and dirt into the air and towards the other toms.

Stonefall made an alarmed noise and stepped backwards. "So cold you're _shaking?_ " he asked.

A sound between squashed laughter and a cough came from the blue-gray apprentice's muzzle, although Cloudtuft did not find the pun particularly good. "Sorry," she meowed, flicking a small clump of dirt off his shoulder with her tail. Cloudtuft saw the gray cat grow slightly stiff, as if he wasn't sure what to make of the brief touch. _Poor sod. Has no one ever groomed him?_

"Your fault, though," the white tom reminded Stonefall, grinning at the tabby to show that his words were in jest.

He apologized anyway, retreating back to his old, shy Stonefall ways after the mild bout of brilliance that was _so cold you're shaking_.

"So. Anyway," Cloudtuft said, "this could be our emergency escape route. It's a little steep; we could dig it to lead in more slowly, so we could get in and out faster." He spun in a circle, surveying the land, and saw that it dropped downwards in the distance.

"Right, it looks like we're currently on... er, a plateau," he went on, finding no better word for the raised land that they were standing on. He angled his ears. "Down there should be the other entrance."

"Great!" Flamepaw's tail was raised high, her ears pricked and slightly tilted. "That's, uh, good to know, so... what're we going to do with this information?"

 _She wants to do something about Grassfur and Maplepool._

He could just act oblivious and say something unhelpful like "now we know how big the den is," but he knew the topic of the missing cats would come up later if not now. Given that, he began to formulate a plan to humor her, speaking as he thought.

"Well, if we figure out which way north is, and we remember which way the wind was blowing last night, we could tell which direction they'd be arriving from." _Given that they know which direction to walk, which is unlikely,_ he thought, but did not say this out loud. If he kept speaking, maybe she wouldn't notice that he was faking it all, making things up as he went and walking on the wobbliest of logic.

"Relative to the log, anyway. So we can lead them to here with, say, signs. That's where the plateau is helpful; it's taller, they'll be able to see this from afar."

A frown briefly crossed Flamepaw's face, but she gave him a bright smile that reached her eyes.

"All right! We can grab things, build a big ol' structure maybe, so big that any cat who notices it will come to investigate."

He got the faint, disconcerting notion that _she_ was now humoring _him_.

"Let's not expend all our energy," Cloudtuft warned. "Food's still an issue."

She waved her tail. "Of course."

"So we're going to make a path," Stonefall said, so quietly Cloudtuft couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question. He traced one of his claws through the icy slush, leaving a wavy line. "Leading them here?"

Ah, he was speaking more frequently; that was nice. Cloudtuft shrugged and nodded at the same time. "Don't see why not."

"Let's go!" Flamepaw shot off in the direction of a clump of what looked like wilted grass, kicking up drops of melted snow as she went. Cloudtuft found that his underbelly was soaked, dragging against the stuff, but he hadn't noticed the cold.

He exchanged glances with Stonefall.

They both got to work.

...

The white tom dragged a spiny, shriveled branch along the ground. He deposited it at the very end of a long, winding trail of various scraps from nature and stood back to admire the three cats' handiwork.

They had gathered anything they could find in the barren land, even going so far as to dig up the prey bones from the fox burrow. The objects had been lightly embedded through the snow into the ground, creating an odd, ragtag line going from the log to the fox burrow. Grass, twigs, large leaves, anything salvageable was fair game.

"We've cleared out that entire bush," the ShadowClan cat said brightly, approaching with Stonefall close behind. She had another branch to be placed right behind Cloudtuft's, and the tabby was struggling with two more clamped in his jaws.

"I think that's all we need," Cloudtuft meowed, eyeing the last couple of branches. _They should be just long enough to end at the entrance to the burrow._ "We've probably deforested this whole place."

"Ha. As if there were any trees to begin with!"

Stonefall had put the bush branches in place. His flanks were heaving; he had worked the hardest out of all of them, if Cloudtuft noticed correctly, dragging along multiple items when he and Flamepaw carried less.

"Two mice between the three of us is hardly a single meal," declared Cloudtuft. "Let's head in and check one of the caches."

He moved to enter the burrow. Flamepaw bounded ahead of him onto the plateau to survey their work, looking pleased. "Look at that! We're so cool, aren't we? We did that whole thing and it's not even sunset!"

It was, in fact, the gentle time after sunhigh where everything was still bright, and probably warm, but the sun was starting to recede past the horizon. Cloudtuft glanced back out into the open to check which way it was setting.

 _So if it's going that way, that's west, and north will be... this way._

They were walking north, apparently, as they went back underground. The whole plateau and burrow was eastern to the log. If he remembered correctly, northeast was the direction the wind had blown— Maplepool had been thrown into Grassfur, who had been standing in front of her to the right.

He knew this was true, because he remembered choosing the spot as far away as possible from his brother, on the back edge of the left.

Something twisted in his stomach at the memory, at the faded recollection of anger.

 _So we're west, and they're... they'd_ have _been blown northwest,_ he thought, using the past tense, _meaning if they decided to go backwards, or we decided to continue north a little westward, which I won'lt let happen, we might run into each other. I mean, we might run into their bodies._ He was not very hopeful over their fate, but it was hard to remind himself of that after spending hours with Flamepaw's optimism.

It was all guesswork and he hated it, hated how he had to twist his logic and come up with things from thin air. All their plans and hopes were based on chance, rather than solid facts, and it was like trying to perch on the thinnest, highest branch of a tree. But what else was there to do?

 _Assuming they're dead—_

 _They_ are _,_ Cloudtuft told himself firmly, _so don't get your hopes up._

 _Then I'll have to convince these two to go back. I think RiverClan's warming stone helped more than I'd thought; they don't need that much recovery. We'll just head on back to the Clans. It should only take two days. They'll be guaranteed life._

The hard part was getting them to agree, especially Flamepaw. Any cat who'd known her for even a day could tell what she'd think of the prospect of going back: a _no_ , plain and clear.

"Home, sweet home," Flamepaw said with a wry laugh, padding cheerfully into the den of the burrow. "I mean, I'm guessing this is going to be home for a week."

"Suppose so," replied Cloudtuft. "Do we need to get food? We've pushed ourselves a little further than we probably should have, given the... low rations." Maybe he could convince her to leave in a few days rather than a week.

The blue-gray she-cat shrugged. "Tomorrow's another whole day we can dedicate to hunting," she pointed out, before her tail shot upwards and her pale eyes grew brighter. "Or tonight! Maybe all the prey is gone because this is a nocturnal land. We could catch frogs! Ooh, or rabbits, rabbits are a lot more active at night."

"Somehow I don't share your optimism," the white tom said cautiously, "but that sounds like a vote for food. Stonefall?" He turned to the gray tabby with a flick of his tail, inviting him to share his opinion.

"Huhwhat—" Stonefall looked up from his paws, blinking rapidly. "Uh, I don't mind, either way's fine. I'm not hungry or anything."

 _That sounded more like a "don't mind me, I'm not fussy" than a "let's not eat," but I guess it counts as a vote against. So I have to decide anyway._ He wondered if the gray tom really wasn't hungry, or if he was trying very hard not to be a bother. The latter sounded like him, while the former was more unlikely; they had all been working equally hard the whole day, and the pangs pf hunger were constant.

"We'll eat. Better not die of starvation surrounded by food, even if the food might not last very long."

The cats raided one of the caches and got lucky with a cluster of various birds (Cloudtuft wondered briefly how the fox had managed to find birds around here). They divided up the prey into three meals, returned the leftovers to the cache, and dug in. Cloudtuft ran his muzzle over the musty, earthy-smelling feathers, unsure of how exactly to get them off; RiverClan did eat birds when the river froze over, but he had been a kit last leaf-bare, and they'd left before the Clans had gotten into the coldest part of the season.

 _We're only two days away... is the blizzard affecting them? Did it hit them first? It was going in the opposite direction from the territories, after all._

He briefly checked to see how the other two were dealing with their feathers. Stonefall was plucking them out carefully, making sure not to break the delicate skin, something yet again like what Cloudtuft thought Grassfur might do. Flamepaw grabbed bunches in her jaws and tugged, faster and more convenient but less neat. He chose to copy her.

The ShadowClan cat was first to finish, rising to her paws with a few small brown feathers still stuck to her muzzle.

"We should _not_ be going to sleep this early," she declared. "I mean, it's dark underground, which helps, but it still feels like daytime."

"Because it is," Cloudtuft agreed. "Better to stock up on sleep, regardless."

"You have to agree that it's—" Stonefall broke off when Cloudtuft turned to him, as if he hadn't meant to speak aloud, or at least not mean for anyone else to hear. "...disconcerting," he finished uncomfortably.

He eyed the gray tabby curiously. Stonefall was being almost _argumentative_ , not just now, but this morning as well, when he had told Cloudtuft not to lie to them. Of all the cats, he would have least expected it from the shy, unconfrontational tom. Then again, he did have a streak; it took some guts to stand up to Grassfur, but he'd done it the first night, if a little clumsily.

"Of course. That doesn't change the fact that it has to be done."

"Hey, hey, let's compromise," Flamepaw said mildly, weaving between the two toms. "Two of us sleep. One of us stands guard."

The full shrewdness of this idea took a little time to sink in. _That's... actually helpful in more ways than one,_ Cloudtuft realized. _With the blood on the walls, the fact that this place belonged to a fox, the unfamiliarity of the land, it would be comforting to have someone keep an eye while the others rest. We could rotate like that. And she's probably thinking about Grassfur and Maplepool, too. If we're all sleeping and they walk past, they might miss us even with the whole line we set up today._

 _I mean, they won't walk past, because they're dead._

Being around Flamepaw was making him start to feel hopeful about things. He needed to rein those feelings in, as quickly as he could.

"One of us sleep and two stand guard," Stonefall suggested suddenly, his ears pricking up as the words spilled out. Was he excited that he'd had a good idea to contribute? _Most likely._

 _And it_ is _a good idea— safer inside the burrow than outside. If the two guards get attacked, they have each other._

"Perfect," he meowed, noting in the back of his mind that Flamepaw was looking at Stonefall in a way that was a little different from her usual plain curiosity. "We can switch out and rotate easily, one at a time."

"Flamepaw should take first watch," added the other tom, his stammering and shyness lost in the excitement of having a plan— _helping_ make a plan, really. He still spoke quietly, but the burrow was quiet, and he could be heard.

The said she-cat looked delighted, bouncing back and forth on her paws. "Let's go!"

"I'll go with you," Cloudtuft told her. He turned to Stonefall. "You get some rest." _I saw how hard you were working today. Even if you're not willing to admit it, for whatever reasons you have, you must be tired. Plus, I'd like to speak with Flamepaw, try and get her to realize that Grassfur and Maplepool are dead._

The tabby looked slightly deflated, but nodded in agreement and shuffled away to a corner of the den. "Send for me," he said softly, his voice so small it didn't even echo.

Flamepaw was already halfway down the tunnel, paused and waiting for him to follow with every hair on her pelt trembling in anticipation. They padded out to the aboveground once more. The movements were wordless, almost silent save for the brush of paws against wet earth. He didn't want to break the calm quiet, and signaled to her with his tail to follow him onto the plateau.

There they went to guard the escape route. It was more feasible to be there, on higher ground; they could see anything trying to approach the main entrance from below, so both points of entering would be watched over equally. Flamepaw took the left side, Cloudtuft the right, and he settled down on the damp ground, fur fluffing up around him.

It had been a long day, not quite over yet, and he already suspected it was going to be a long night.


	19. Tumult And A Dream

**Chapter Nineteen**

"Stop it!"

He was screaming like he was on fire, his voice high and broken and sobbing, scratching against the sides of his throat. The sun was hot and dragged at his pelt, a miasma of heat surrounding him, more horribly intense than any warmth or cold he had ever felt before, more than he should ever have been able to feel. He slammed his head into his chest because he was in the middle of vast moorland and there was nowhere else he could go, nothing else of his body he could _move_.

His feet were riveted to the ground like a the roots of a great oak tree, keeping him in place, but now instead of staying frozen he fought it with all of his strength, spasming and wrenching, hurling himself from the earth to no avail. He was stuck, completely and helplessly paralyzed especially by his traitorous paws, forced to watch this over again and again and again and again. He threw himself to the ground, landing hard on the fine soil, absently feeling the dull pain ricochet through him, a physical pain that was nothing —almost a blessing, a distraction— compared to the suffering he underwent every night.

"No! Stop it! _Stop it!_ " he roared again, tearing against the invisible ropes that tried to keep his jaws shut and his throat closed. But it was as if he'd said nothing at all; the moor-grass waved carelessly in the soft breeze, rustling in an almost taunting way.

With all his heart he fought, making an empty promise that _this time_ he would escape, but last time was this time and the time before that was this time and "this time" didn't mean a thing anymore.

Everything was sore, a sleepy, throbbing kind of ache, but he hardly noticed it.

And, in turn, the world didn't notice him. The sun continued sharing its choking warmth, the sky continued to be clear and blue with a peaceful dotting of clouds, the wind continued to whisper.

It was not until he had tired himself out, until he could no longer pick himself up and had collapsed where he stood, that the others came.

The she-cat was first, as always, but this time he felt her, heard her, instead of seeing her; he was laying on his side, gasping and winded much like a fish on land, gold eyes staring up into the blue sky and tracing the white swaths of clouds. The desperate _thump thump thump_ of her paws gave life to the land, pulsing; the _swish_ of the dry grass she disturbed created a tormenting melody together with the slight ringing in his ears.

Then came the coyote, lighter-footed and longer-strided, but sound traveled well through the dirt and he could hear its steps grow louder at a faster rate than the cat's, scuffing against the earth. She was outmatched, of course. She always was.

He closed his eyes as the coyote accelerated. He knew the pattern now; once it got close enough, its motivation shot up, and it leapt. He could envision it, and couldn't help but do so, another act of torture brought on to him by himself. He saw her fur in his mind, almost shining in the sunlight, all the colors of the earth, fawn and ginger mottled together. The coyote, a thousand similar colors, rusty orange-brown plus silver and white undercoat, in hot pursuit with pale eyes gleaming.

Leap it did; it sprang off the ground, and two bodies fell.

Cat cry of fear.

Coyote bark of victory.

Bone snap.

And it was all over.

It was almost poetic, the two cats laying on the same earth just a few lengths away from each other, sharing the same moor in this dream-world, both unseeing. They were connected, somehow, and yet...

He squeezed his eyes tighter, willing the world to slip away. _It's over now,_ he thought towards his conscious, towards the sky and the sun, towards whatever it was that made him go through this every time. The unadultered anger, the surge of energy, it had all drained out of him, leaving him limp and exhausted in the field. _Are you happy yet? Take me back._

The sun shone through his eyelids and red-yellow-orange lightspots were dancing in the darkness of his nonexistent vision, but they began to fade, fade, fade, until all was black and gone, and he was released, freed, as the soil gave way and he fell into a bottomless chasm. THe first thing he heard in his freedom was the soft rushing of a river somewhere nearby, a _splish splash_ of wavelets lapping at smooth, water-worn stones. Then he heard wind brushing past reeds, once a comforting sound he'd barely ever noticed, now a grating annoyance reminiscent of the wind in the moor-grass that made the fur on the back of his spine stand up stiffly.

 _Stop it._

And he awakened.

Grassfur stumbled to his paws almost immediately, his mind whirring, seeing black splotches across his vision as he fought to reach full consciousness. The thin line connecting his dream world and the world he was in now snapped, and the memories of the things he had just seen —heard, felt— moments ago disappeared, swallowed by darkness.

The russet tom blinked blearily as he gathered his wits about him, reaching up with a front paw to rub the last of sleep out of his eyes. He then sat down, contemplative, feeling a vague sense of peace settling around him, peace that he had not gotten to feel the entirety of yesterday. Finally, he was alone.

Maplepool! Just when he'd thought he'd be rid of her forever, no problem, she had to catch up to him.

For about the thousandth time since the whole separation debacle, since there wasn't much else to think about, Grassfur thought he should have just left her to drown in the river.

 _Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful. All my problems solved at once. I could have just pretended I had no idea what happened to her, or that I saw her dead body washed ashore. It would have been so easy._ In fact, he wasn't sure what had made him dive into the water and save her; maybe the wind had knocked him silly and he was just now regaining his senses. The second most likely reason was Cloudtuft— Cloudtuft who he'd fought with, Cloudtuft who liked Maplepool. Grassfur had made amends through rescuing her, hadn't he?

 _I should leave now, before she wakes up. Perfect. Second chance for me to get rid of her._

But this time she was definitely alive, and she'd already proven herself capable of catching up to him once. Even if he tried to be more sneaky, he didn't want to risk her showing up after him and Cloudtuft getting angry.

At least, he told himself it was Cloudtuft he was worried about.

 _Right, it's her fault that we're separated in the first place, too,_ Grassfur thought irately. She _ran into_ me. _Maplepool got us into this mess, now I can get myself out. I can work alone just fine. I could make it upstream in a day on my own, I bet, without her tagging along._

That was his general plan of action; go upstream, back the way they came. It made perfect sense; as soon as he reached familiar land, the barren brown earth they'd entered after Twolegplace, he could break off of the river and start searching. He was positive that Cloudtuft would wait for him. What could he do, move on?

 _We did argue..._

 _Over_ Maplepool _! Everything is her fault!_

 _Regardless, Cloudtuft wouldn't just leave me._

 _And even if he would, he'd listen to his logical side. He tends to do that. Which means he knows three cats —him, Stonefall, Flamepaw, if they're all still together— couldn't survive the trip to the tunnels; five probably can't! So he'd go home. And so will I, then, if I don't find him._

It was all very simple. It also felt like he was trying to grasp berries off a tree branch just a little too high for him to reach, but what else was there to bank on?

And it wasn't like _Maplepool_ was smart enough to offer better ideas.

She'd actually managed to not annoy him for most of yesterday; they hadn't spoken after he'd caught the fish from the river, early into their day's journey. Unfortunately, her silence irked him just as much as she would if she had spoken. What was the _point_ of working with another cat if the cat didn't even _contribute?_

Was she trying to make him _like_ her by "respecting his space" and being "cautious" and all the other frog dung that most RiverClan cats tried to do?

If she was, that was the worst way to go about it. Grassfur was very quite sick of cats skittering about him like nervous minnows and mice.

"I can't leave her," he muttered out loud, a direct contradiction of his thoughts. He slammed his head into the ground, possibly trying to convince himself otherwise, but the movement sent a shock racing through his spine, and his heart skipped a beat. Grassfur opened his mouth to gasp in air, finding it suddenly hard to breathe.

 _What in the world?_ He'd made his frustration physical, before, when he knew he had to do something that he really didn't want to do. That feeling was absolutely unprecedented.

 _It's pretty early in the morning right now. If I'm lucky, she'll be lazy. I'll prod her, tell her we're leaving, and leave, and then no one can blame me if she doesn't follow._

That sounded like a pleasant idea. Maplepool was definitely a lazy cat, right? He hated lazy cats, he hated Maplepool, the logic all worked out.

 _No, it doesn't,_ pointed out something in his mind. He squashed the three words as soon as they appeared in his head.

 _Look, I'm being the good cat here,_ Grassfur thought furiously. _I_ could _just leave._ As if drawn by a force, he lifted himself back to standing position and moved in the direction of the forest by the river.

He had been sleeping by the river; it was the best way to keep her away from him. He'd tried his best to ignore her, not pay attention to her at all as they walked yesterday, but he'd noticed anyway how squeamish she was around water. She'd chosen to sleep closer to the foliage, under the safety of trees, so he moved there now.

 _If she keeps this up, and we get closer to where we came from, it'll get colder— maybe she'll freeze to death, since she's not RiverClan._ He'd meant for the thought to cheer him up, but somehow it didn't; the spot in his head that constantly sang about how irrational his hatred was had grow louder.

He suffocated it under thoughts of Sweetleaf; regardless of the pain, it would silence that voice, and he didn't ever want to go a day _without_ thinking about her.

 _Sweetleaf is the only one who ever understood me, never tried to make me "nicer" or tiptoe around me. She'd tell me it was okay. That feelings happen for a reason, and I should always trust in mine._ It wasn't just all her, either; Grassfur himself quite agreed with that last line of thinking. If you couldn't trust your own thoughts, your own head, then what were you really?

He found that he had stopped moving and paused for a few moments to linger in the comfort of her memories, soft as featherdown but painful as thistles at the same time. He would find her. He had to.

Then he resumed walking, searching for the one cat he _didn't_ want to find.

Maplepool was nowhere to be found.

This was rather miffing; _he_ should be the one to leave _her_ , if anyone was leaving at all. And, for StarClan's sake, she was the one who wanted to team up in the first place! Grassfur thought he should probably just leave— he had a solid, truthful excuse to give Cloudtuft about why his she-cat was missing, once they had reunited.

The memory of their fight felt like worms wiggling in the russet tom's stomach. The brothers had fought many, many times before, and the most recent one didn't even seem close to the worst of their clashes, but now they were separated and Grassfur had never been so far away from Cloudtuft before. The fact that they had been on bad terms the last time they saw each other only added to the discomfort.

 _I'll find him, be all mature and apologize, because he can like whoever he wants, I guess, even if I think she's a terrible cat._ The details of their spat had all but faded, the words spoken in the heat of the moment lost; he only remembered anger and Maplepool, but the anger was long gone. _Then off we go, continue to the Moon Tunnels._

In Grassfur's world, that was the way things worked. Not ever finding Cloudtuft was an impossibility, and he operated subconsciously on the belief that he would most certainly find his brother.

 _If I'm good, anyway. I need to earn some karma points. I guess that means finding and staying with Maplepool, for now._

He could use her to win favor over StarClan, or fate, or whatever it was that decided their destinies, and then they would lead his paws to his brother.

Grassfur was about to call for her, he really was, when the mottled fawn-and-ginger she-cat appeared into view. In her jaws was a rabbit, limp and very much dead. He barely had time to register this before he squeezed his eyes shut on impulse.

The prey dangling from a predator's jaws...

The way she _moved..._

It tore him apart on the inside and he needed to tear something apart on the outside to stop the sudden burst of agony. He opened his eyes, refusing to look at her, and grabbed a stray clump of grass in his claws, ripping it to shreds. It was pure, unadultered anger, frustration; his heart beat rapidly against an unknown force, and it felt like he couldn't get air nearly as fast as he should. His thoughts, normally structured and focused, collapsed into fragments.

 _How dare you walk like that how dare you catch a rabbit and let it hang from your jaws so dead and lifeless I can't stand it stop it stop moving I hear your paws shifting on the ground and I want to cut them off and shred you to bits I feel the movement from the ground and I want to strip the forest of its soil stop it stop it—_

Maplepool had stopped. She stood in front of him now, watching with an unreadable expression; his muscles stopped tensing and he realized he was still clutching the grass he'd mostly mutilated.

The hurricane of anger and darkness had stopped as well. The insanity was gone, the groundless backlash he'd had in response to just seeing her, but it was replaced with a fresh burst of hatred for the moor-colored she-cat.

Something was telling him to stop and step back, but he was absorbed in the here and now of how he felt, and the fresh adrenaline rush made him snarl at her, "Don't eat that. You've wasted enough time already."

She stared at him.

If he had been less angry —less _scared_ , although he didn't realize that was an emotion he was feeling amongst the thousands of others— he would have seen the internal struggle she was going through, but he didn't notice it, his mind and judgement clouded. Maplepool reached a compromise, placed the rabbit on the ground, and said something at last:

"Me? Waste time? I woke up first."

"You could have woken me up," he snapped, accusing. "Or, you know, _not_ gone on a wild rabbit chase and caught a perfectly fine fish from the river that's _right there_." The word _chase_ was grating and he bit his tongue.

"I—!" Her amber eyes flashed and grew dim a moment after. She exhaled and restarted, her once sharp, heated _I_ growing calm upon the second time saying it. "I didn't want to disturb you," Maplepool said, her words mild, clipped neatly with an underlying suggestion of mockery. "You were having quite a dream."

He glowered. "I don't dream."

"Grassfur," she said, and hearing her speak his name sent a strange shudder coursing through his body. He tilted his head to look ar her more closely, slightly aware of the narrowing of his eyes as they took in the colors of her pelt. He didn't even know how he felt about that.

 _What is going_ on _with me?_

If Maplepool was as unnerved as he was, she hid it well. "I don't think you get to decide whether I eat or not," she said, settling down to crouch by the rabbit. Her sudden movement made something flare back up inside him, but it was over as soon as it started, and the feeling dissipated.

It was a start. He had half expected her to agree and leave the food, in a typical meek she-cat way, which would have annoyed him much more. Then again, he wasn't quite sure _why_ he'd had this expectation. She'd surprised him before, if he'd admit only to himself that he had been surprised — _No way! Fish in the river?_ — but she also sometimes acted exactly the way he thought she would, thanking him for the fish that he'd thrown at her.

This memory crossed his mind the same moment the two hindquarters of a rabbit hit him in the face.

It bounced uncermoniously off his muzzle as he turned to stare at the culprit. Maplepool was wearing a genuine grin on her face, triumphant and small as if it had been meant only for herself, but it was quickly replaced with a mix of regretand _should I have done that?_ His first compulsion was to be angry.

 _Look, I didn't hit you in the face on_ purpose _yesterday._

 _Although I did enjoy how that turned out._

Somehow, he didn't act on it; a good thing, too, because his second idea was much better, and possibly more satisfying than being mad. He hooked his claws into one of the legs and threw it back at her. She made a noise of surprise as it fell in front of her, but somehow it didn't bother him, not the way her paws did.

Her amber eyes fell to the rabbit haunch, laying on the rest of the rabbit, then back to him. He settled down to eat his share, focusing on his food instead of her, not offering a thank you.

This was the second time he'd eaten rabbit, the first being two days ago in Twolegplace, but the forest rabbit was entirely different; it was tougher and drier, more intense, singing with the pleasant flavors of real wildgrass. Grassfur found himself eating faster so he could finish before Maplepool, thus giving a bolster to his wasting-time argument, and buried the prey bones briskly. He took a few extra seconds to make sure the ground was as perfectly smooth as it had been prior to getting dug up, then turned to the other cat.

Maplepool was finishing up the other piece of rabbit that had been tossed back and forth. When she was ready to leave, she looked at the remainder of the rabbit, then to him, and spoke.

"I'm bringing this with us. There's still plenty left, enough for at least two meals."

It wasn't a question or a request; it was an _I'm doing this and you have no say in it._ There wasn't even an _okay?_ hanging at the end of her words, no sign of her wanting to know if _he_ was good with this decision. It intrigued him; most cats, speaking to him, always gave off the sense that they were trying to cater to him, which was incredibly unpleasant. But she was treating him like a normal cat... He felt the expression on his face shifting as he studied her and struggled to return it to its normal frown.

If he were being all Cloudtuft-y and logical, he'd tell her to leave it, that it might feed some other creature in these woods; they were walking right next to a handy food source called the river, so sustenance wasn't an issue. Nobody just _carried prey around._ That was weird.

But he _hated_ wasting food.

No one else in RiverClan seemed to get it, especially back in greenleaf, when there had been plenty of fish in RiverClan's rivers. Most cats would take their own fish, invaribly be unable to finish it, and bury the remains with the bones. So, instead of arguing, he shrugged his shoulders and offered a slightly-too-surly "all right."

They set off on their journey upstream.

He almost immediately heard the faint scratching of her paws against the soil and it made the already spiky fur along his spine grow even stiffer.

 _Inhale._

 _Exhale._

 _Listen to the river._

The river saved him, its soft burbling gush, warm and kind and very much like home. He let it drown out all other sounds and veered closer to it, walking along the bank of the river so closely that droplets of water sprinkled on his paws. He felt Maplepool's presence behind him, but closer to the left, a safer distance away from the body of water.

 _Day two dawns and I haven't killed her yet._

The thought was meant to be dry humor, but it hit just a little too close to something he couldn't quite name.


	20. The Bored Game

**Chapter Twenty**

"Know what, Stonefall? It's your job to deal with Flamepaw now. Great stars, I think she talked my ears off!"

Cloudtuft twitched his ears and laid them flat against his head for maximum effect. His face was still cheerful, albeit weary, and Stonefall decided he was probably joking.

"You want _me_ to deal with her?" The ThunderClan cat pushed away a flash of regret that would surely lead down a rocky path in his internal monologue (he shouldn't have put emphasis on the "me"; it made him sound whiny, when really he was just half nervous, half strangely excited, this was what happened when he talked too much, better not to talk at all, did Cloudtuft hate him now for sounding whiny even though that really really wasn't what he meant).

"It's either you or me, and I need some sleep! I'm sure you've got _something_ in your pelt you can pull out. Are you a butterfly connoisseur?"

This time missing the joke, the gray tabby shook his head. _Do I need to be a butterfly connoisseur? Is it bad that I'm not? Would Flamepaw be my friend if I was?_ He brushed past Cloudtuft, exiting the fox's den as the other tom entered. A quiet rustling told him that the white cat had settled down into the nest, undoubtedly exhausted; late night watches were the hardest.

It was the third night that the group had been separated, and the days were starting to blend together. Stonefall only kept a watch on it in order to tell when a week had passed— he was terrible with keeping track of time. They had gone along with the rotated guard duty for all three nights and two full days. One cat would always stay in the den while the others stuck together outside. In the daytime, it was safer to leave the den unguarded, and they would go on fruitless searches for prey. At night, they simply stayed alert by the escape entrance in case of danger.

After the whirlwind of events that the group had undergone during their brief time together —Flamepaw's disappearance, the dog, Maplepool's kidnapping, Mintpaw, the blizzard— everything seemed to come to a standstill, as if they were in the eye of a storm. They were simply waiting now.

For what?

For Grassfur and Maplepool to magically show up?

He knew exactly what Cloudtuft was trying to do, and he also knew it was for Flamepaw, but he thought the white tom was going about it the entirely wrong way.

Cloudtuft had no hope, that much was clear, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Flamepaw, meanwhile, was all the hope in the world stuffed into a cat's body. Stonefall found himself somewhere in the middle.

 _They could still be alive, but sitting around waiting isn't going to help. If we want to find them, we need to_ go find them.

He shook his head; he'd thought about it enough the past few days. Plus, he'd been given a more important, pressing task to focus on: entertaining Flamepaw.

The blue-gray apprentice had been restless; guard watches with her were exciting, but also exhausting. Stonefall had no clue what to say or do when he was around her, yet he was desperate to make a good impression— to prove that he was a cool cat, funny and talented just like her, someone she would love to be friends with.

Because he so wanted to be _her_ friend.

They had been on watch together four times before this. He was able to keep count because each watch brought with it a new memory, warm and pleasant because she was there, but it also made him want to slam his head against a tree and go back in time so he could stop being so _awkward_ and tongue-tied.

The first night:

He'd been so focused on trying to be liked that he second-guessed everything he considered saying, and ended up not saying very much at all. She'd told him about the dove she'd tried and failed to catch during her excursion into the forest bordering Twolegplace, and he'd laughed a little too late, a little too ungainly, when in hindsight the whole purpose of the story was to be humorous.

"Maybe you can teach me! You're good at hunting in forests, I bet!" she'd told him.

He didn't like thinking about what he'd said— something along the lines of an _uh yeah sure_ , a blundering blabber about how his sister was a lot better at it, that he realized made it sound like he wasn't interested in showing her how a forest-cat hunted when he really would love to do that (but also really was terrfied he'd mess up if he ever did hunt in front of her).

The second day after the blizzard, the first day of watch:

Snow had fallen once again, a gentler snow this time without wind, and they'd called Cloudtuft out to join them. Stonefall had done it because he thought the RiverClan cat's gift of warmth would be helpful; Flamepaw had done it because she wanted everyone to be there to enjoy the fun of snow that wasn't trying to kill them.

They _had_ ended up having fun. This second watch had memories of laughter, but it was their laughter, not his; Cloudtuft and Flamepaw played like kits in the snow, happiness abound, but Stonefall couldn't for the life of him see himself in that position, being silly and just goofing around. He was Stonefall-the-incredibly-shy-and-stiff cat, and now that he'd inevitably given himself that label—the very thing he had been trying _not_ to do— it was impossible to take it off.

He'd _wanted_ to join in, he really had.

Some sort of a mental block stopped him. He'd enjoyed it because they'd enjoyed it and exhilaration was contagious, but he wished he could have joined in. Why had it been so difficult?

The second night:

Flamepaw exchanged pleasant conversation with him, small talk like _what's your favorite prey?_ that he'd given one-word answers to because he didn't know how to elaborate. _Squirrel_ , he would say, and it was because his first catch was a squirrel, almost a whole week after Dawnpaw's first prey, but he couldn't say that whole thing out loud or he'd stumble, and in any case he wasn't sure if he could convey how very important that first catch was to him, after living in the shadow of his sister the talented huntress, talented everything.

The whole thing had generally been her asking him questions, him responding and sending back _what about you_ s the whole time.

He had felt, still did feel, like a lost kitten. How did normal cats talk to each other? What did they _do?_ How had he been a cat for twelve moons and not know stuff like this?

And the last watch they'd had, before this one:

They went hunting, with no prey to be found. The caches in the burrow were almost all used up; they had been there to sustain a single fox who went hunting every day and possibly her cubs, not three almost-adult cats who had no other sources of food. Stonefall had been keeping his eyes out for herbs, too, and he'd actually found some. It was like a moment out of a dream, maybe even a fairytale.

Sorrel! He could recognize its oblong leaves anywhere, growing in clusters across the ground. It was a traveling herb— even better, the traveling herb that staved off hunger. It wasn't food, but it would do in situations like the one they were in.

Flamepaw had been impressed ("You know _traveling herbs?_ Medicine cats hardly gather those, since only us of-age cats go on any journeys!") and he'd felt like he'd redeemed himself just a little. They'd gathered up all the slightly wilted leaves and brought them back to store in an empty cache, triumphant. _And if there's plants, there might be other things that eat them..._

This memory was the freshest in his mind, giving him a quiet, hopeful optimism for the fifth watch with Flamepaw.

Watches with Cloudtuft were calm and laidback, usually quiet and peaceful as they each left the other to their own thoughts. The silence was comfortable, and Stonefall felt an increased kinship with the white tom after their time together, although he wasn't sure if those feelings were reciprocated.

But Flamepaw was alive and Flamepaw was energy, and he was drawn to her like a moth to... well, a flame. He wanted to be around her, to be illuminated by the light she gave off in waves.

Stonefall's thoughts were cut short as he exited the fox burrow and leapt to get on the plateau. He made it gracefully, on all four feet, but Flamepaw hadn't been watching; she turned to watch him with her ears pricked as he made a _thump_ upon his landing.

"Stonefall!" Her pale green gaze was bright, and she bounced over to him, circling him like an overactive escort as he walked to the enrance they were supposed to guard.

 _Well. I see why Cloudtuft is tired._

"Hey," he said quietly, because he was not sure what else to say. He gazed at her, eyes tracing the gash along her flank but unable to get a good view. It didn't look like much of a hindrance; on the other paw, Stonefall's multiple bruises and cuts hurt if he accidentally touched him or brushed them against something, making him move with extra caution. The snow and general cold weather helped numb the ache.

"Why do both of you always use the normal entrance?" She started talking amost immediately, continuing to hop from foot to foot. "The escape is a lot more fun! And faster, too!"

They reached the hole; Stonefall settled down in the area to the right of it, where there was a patch of bare earth with no snow on it. The best thing about taking watch after Cloudtuft was that he left his spot warm. His thoughts were about to trail off in the direction of RiverClan and the mysteries of their warming stone —he'd clearly remembered Cloudtuft's fur being frozen the night of the blizzard, or was it just a fake memory caused by the cold?— when he realized that Flamepaw's question was being left unanswered.

"Uh, it's a little steep?" he supplied weakly.

"That's what _makes_ it fun!"

"Right."

The exchange had hardly started to spark before it dimmed.

 _So I heard you were talking Cloudtuft's ears off,_ he considered saying, but did not. He didn't know how she'd feel about this comment, or how Cloudtuft might feel about him sharing it, but mostly he just didn't think he'd be able to string together that long a sentence without stumbling halfway through. _Oh, she'll never want to be my friend at this point; I can't even hold a proper conversation. What do I do? How do I impress her? What's something I'm good at?_

Something perked up in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside without paying it any heed. It was a useless skill. Plus, it was was like a last-resort kind of thing; the only time normal cats would be interested in it was if they were _very_ bored.

"I'm _so_ bored," Flamepaw announced.

Stonefall nearly choked and she gave him a look that was equal parts concerned and confused.

"I mean, daytime watches are fun because you can go places, and being inside is boring because you don't want to sleep! But then nighttime watches are boring and being inside is fun because you get to sleep!" Flamepaw heaved a long-suffering sigh in a jocular way, pausing in her continuous movements to stretch, and then resumed pacing. "I wish something would pop up and attack us, honestly."

The gray tabby made a noncommital noise, hoping it sounded sympathetic.

"So bored," Flamepaw repeated with another breathy gust of air.

 _I should show her._

 _I can't do that whole thing! I'll mess up somewhere._

 _Just go for it! If she's anything like me, she'd appreciate it._

 _But she's_ nothing _like me. That's what makes her so terrifying._

"Aaaaagh." The blue-gray cat plopped onto the snowy ground, and Stonefall had a sudden vision of an anxious, slightly-yet-very younger Stonepaw doing just the same thing not too long ago.

Twice now had she responded, albeit indirectly, to his protesting thoughts. He sighed inwardly. _StarClan, if you're trying to give me a sign and I screw this up, I'm going to yell at you. Because if I do mess up, I'll be right there with you. Death by embarassment or something._

He worked his jaw, searching for the tiny bit of courage he had in him. _How do I start this? Maybe a casual hey. And then... 'I have a solution to your boredom'? No, no, wait, 'I have a_ cure _for your boredom', yes, that's a little better, go with th good-at-herbs theme._ He wanted to think it through more before he actually said it out loud, but his muzzle opened and the "hey" flew out of his mouth before he could stop it. The word was croaky, from lack of speaking, and he awkwardly cleared his throat to try again. "Uh."

Flamepaw was looking at him with cheerful interest. Her gaze made all his weak preparation dissipate from his mind. With a dry mouth, he came up with something on the spot, with less dramatics:

"I-if we can find some things, I can show you a game," he offered, hating the way his voice sounded, the way his voice caught on his words.

She perked up as if struck by lightning. "Sure thing! Er... what things?" Her tail waved in the air, excited.

 _Oh, I should have prepared_ this _part,_ Stonefall thought, trying to sort the gamepieces in his head. "Twelve things," he said out loud, stalling for time. _Each player has two of those, we can use pebbles... bits of a stick for the other pieces? Maybe a scrap of leaf, and then..._

"Okay. Definitely four pebbles," the gray tabby meowed. He could figure the rest of it out as they went, depending on what things they could find. Flamepaw looked bemused, but didn't question him.

"And here I was thinking we'd be rebels and leave the entrance unguarded for a moment," she said. "Pebbles are everywhere!" She sweeped snow away with her tail, then poked at the uncovered earth, freeing a rock the size of a holly berry.

"Er, that's... a little too small," Stonefall said, cursing himself. He should have been more clear. _I'm already regretting this._ "About the size of a cat's eye will do."

"Oh, all right!" She wasn't upset; if anything, she was more excited. "That makes it harder— hey, that's great! I'm not bored anymore and we haven't even started!"

She grinned at him. It was contagious, and he found himself tentatively smiling back.

Together, they found four good pebbles embedded in the ground. Flamepaw set them to the side while Stonefall studied a wilted leaf he had gotten in the search. _If I..._ he ripped it into four pieces and put those with the pebbles.

"This will be interesting," Flamepaw said, watching quizzically.

 _I hope so._

"We need two little pieces of stick, about the size of the rest of that stuff," Stonefall decided, "and then two, uh, random pieces. Same size. But anything that's not one of the other things, so like not a pebble, or leaf, or—"

She brushed his muzzle airily with her tail, making him fall silent. "I got it." He clamped his jaws shut, whiskers quivering.

Flamepaw was the one to find the stick and break it, straying a little further from the entrance than she probably should have in order to find one. Stonefall couldn't find anything suitable, but an idea struck him, and he dug bits of dirt from the ground with his claws. Wet with snowmelt, it was sticky enough to stay together, and he made two shabby balls with the material.

"One three six— twelve," Flamepaw said agreeably, after counting rapidly in threes under her breath. "Let's play!" She sat back on her haunches, waiting.

Stonefall swallowed. _Well, can't back out now._

He cleared out more snow until there was a large enough area, then slashed four long lines vertically between the two of them. Two shorter slashes intersecting, each with all four claws, and he had a grid that was nine squares high, five across.

He moved the pieces into place.

"Oooo," meowed Flamepaw, watching with rapt interest. "What game _is_ this?"

"It's a ThunderClan gift," Stonefall said, feeling a wave of nostalgia, "meant to improve strategizing skills, and stuff." There was a lot more to it —back home, the game was timed, and there was a whole bunch of other benefits— but he didn't want to ramble.

She blinked. "We have something like that too, only more physical, and not a game. Yours is cool! I mean, I haven't played it yet, but it _looks_ cool."

"So the goal is to move your pieces into the center square, but from the opposite end that your pieces are from," he started, pointing with a claw as he went. "Like that."

Flamepaw nodded. He felt emboldened at this small success and went on. "If you piece moves into an opponent piece's square, that piece is out. It's killed. You can't jump over them, either."

"That's violent," she commented, but he caught the humor in her voice.

"These pieces, the pebbles" —he tapped one— "are strengths. They move like this, only one square, this way or that. Or that, or that." His words were awkward and vague, but sliding the pieces across the makeshift game board was comforting and familiar, which helped.

"The leaves, leaf pieces, our speeds, move in the same directions, but they have to move any amount of squares _except_ one." He paused, tilting his head at her: _are you following?_ She nodded, angling her ears in a _go on_ sort of way, and it wasn't until moments later that he realized they'd spontaneously communicated without words.

"The stick is an agility, which moves diagonal. And the last ones are clevers."

Flamepaw had seemed momentarily distracted, and he understood why when she burst out, "Woah! Those pieces represent the four Clans!"

 _They do?_ But he didn't need to ask, as she was already barelling on. "The speeds are WindClan and the clevers are ShadowClan, of course, that's easy. Agility must be RiverClan, they need to have that to catch fish, so strength is ThunderClan! That is _super cool._ "

 _Strength, ThunderClan._ It made sense, but he was pretty sure he was the only ThunderClan cat Flamepaw knew, so he wasn't sure where she'd gotten that notion from.

He thought it was cool, too, but couldn't manage more than a polite nod, although he wanted to go on— _was that on purpose? Has anyone in ThunderClan realized?_

"So what does ShadowClan do?" The apprentice leaned forward.

"The clever can move anywhere," he started, expecting to be interrupted, but she remained silent. "Any square on the grid, but in conjunction with another piece. But if your opponent notices that you moved the clever, you lose that turn, and both pieces go back."

"Wait, so— isn't that really hard? What are you supposed to do, distract the other cat while you move it?"

 _Pretty much, yeah._ Stonefall had been staring at the gamepieces, trying not to look at her in case it seemed like he was staring. Now he glanced up, expecting to see a frown, but saw only excitement. Of course; Flamepaw was probably thinking something more like _that's a challenge!_ rather than _that's kind of hopeless._ Stonefall, of course, had thought the latter when he'd learned about the game.

"It's happened before," he said with a shrug, recalling fond memories. It was Thrushfeather who had tricked him for the first time...

But thinking of his father made him feel cold and terrified all over again, so he reeled himself back into the present. "So, do... do you want to try it?"

"Of course I want to try it!" She was radiating energy, as she always did.

"You can go first," he offered.

She promptly had her speed kill his.

He promptly had his strength kill the offending speed.

"...Oh."

He stifled a laugh. They played onwards, both of them minus one piece, but it wasn't long before Flamepaw tried to move the clever and he gave her a _really?_ look that she responded to with a sheepish one. Both the clever and the agility she'd tried to move with it went back.

"Say, what counts as _noticing_ the clever? Like, if you moved yours and I took my next turn and _then_ I realized you moved it, would that count."

"Noticing is defined as reaching out to make your next move," Stonefall informed her, quoting the very thing Thrushfeather had said to him, and the thing he'd said to Dawnheart —Dawnpaw— so many moons later.

"I'll get you one day," she said with teasing fierceness.

 _You can try._

This was the one thing he'd beaten Dawnheart at when they were apprentices, to the point where she didn't want to do it with him anymore, calling it a pointless game; it had been a long time since he'd last gotten to play. _Does Flamepaw think it's a pointless game? Is she just humoring me?_ He wanted to tell her about all the things that made him like the game, from the valuable skills it offered to the adrenaline rush when it got more intense. _The game is actually designed to mimic a border skirmish; you're the patrol leader, your pieces are the cats in your patrol. The clever helps teach distraction techniques, and everythign else is a mixture of speed and strategy, just the thing you'd need in real life..._

But he was sure it would only bore her.

"Does the game have a name?" Flamepaw asked, looking dismayed as he killed her other speed. "I mean, do you just say, 'hey, want to play _the game_ with me?' because that's just a little creepy out of context."

"Er," Stonefall said, caught off guard by the question, "well, yeah, that's what we usually say, since it's the only game. But I think the official name is the Board Game." In ThunderClan, the grid was scratched into a board of wood, which made sliding the gamepieces a lot easier than it was on this soil.

He glanced at the grid. Flamepaw had tried to move her clever again; he gave her another look. She laughed and moved her pieces back.

"That makes total sense, though," she meowed. "The Bored Game! Because you play it when you're bored!"

 _That's... not the board I was talking about,_ Stonefall thought, but he was entirely exhausted by saying what was the most he'd spoken in a long time, and decided not to elaborate. It wasn't a _bad_ name, and sounded exactly the same. "Sure. Bored Game."

She eyeballed him strangely but did not comment.

They played onwards.

"Hey, look, does that mean I won?" She had moved a piece to the square that entered the center.

"You would, but I can kill you with my strength," he said. _Oh, no, I never explained that, of course I forgot something, how could I not?_ "I'm sorry— should have said that— we can restart—"

"It's fine, Stonefall, I should've noticed; it'd be fairly intuitive anyway, anyone could have figured that rule out."

He'd been told _it's fine_ by many cats before when he'd messed something up, exasperated _it's fine_ s, impatient ones followed by a sigh, courteous ones that meant nothing.

This was the first that made him actually feel like everything was fine. That he was forgiven, or perhaps not blamed in the first place.

 _Thank you,_ he wanted to say, but he didn't think she would understand the kind of thank you it was.

He beat her; then again, then again. The games were brief; Flamepaw moved quickly despite not being timed, which was both good and bad. She'd moved the clever at least twice every game, although he always noticed. Stonefall was tempted to do it to her, but he saw the rabbit-swift glances she took at his clever every turn.

"What's all this?"

Engrossed in the fifth rendition of their game, neither cat noticed Cloudtuft approaching.

 _Hm. On second thought, this might not have been the best choice of a game. We're supposed to be on watch, after all._

"The Bored Game!" Flamepaw bounced up, facing Cloudtuft eagerly. "Stonefall showed me and it's _super cool_."

Stonefall had not ever expected his name to be in the same sentence as the words "super cool," unless the super or the cool was preceded with a _not_.

"Is it time to switch already?" Stonefall asked, his speaking muscles a little loosened by the large amount of talking he'd done that night. He frowned up at the sky; the moon was not at the spot it should be.

"No, I just couldn't sleep." The white tom inhaled deeply. "Concerning dreams."

"Oh." Flamepaw looked sympathetic. "You should play with us! The winner can play the odd cat out— oh wait, that means Stonefall would play the entire time..."

Cloudtuft looked faintly amused. "Good at this, are you?" he asked Stonefall, who was wondering whether it'd be obnoxious of him to say "yes" when Flamepaw saved him from having to reply.

"He IS!"

"Color me intrigued. How do you play?"

"You should show him, Stonefall, it's your game."

Stonefall quite thought he was done for the night, and had much exceeded his speaking quota. Talking was exhausting, and he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to do much more. "You do it."

The blue-gray apprentice looked vaguely protesting.

"If Stonefall doesn't want to, Stonefall doesn't have to," Cloudtuft said kindly, shooting the gray tabby an _I got you_ grin. Stonefall twitched an ear at him; _appreciate it_.

Communicating without words was much easier.

Flamepaw explained the mechanics of the Board... _Bored_ Game much more eloquently than he could have. Meanwhile, Stonefall traced the claw marks in the earth idly, making them deeper.

He wasn't sure if this watch had been a success or failure.

"That clever sure is something," Cloudtuft commented; Flamepaw had just reached that part. "I like it. It has you strategize in real life, too, not just the game."

The ShadowClan cat wrinkled her nose. "I like it too, but I haven't been successful yet."

Both she and Stonefall noticed when Cloudtuft's blue eyes grew unfocused, staring out into some distance. He felt his pelt bristle, subconsciously aware that something was wrong.

"Cloudtuft?" Flamepaw tried, tentative.

"What— oh, sorry," he said, gaze clearing.

"What _was_ that? What's wrong?" She blinked at him

"Don't worry about it," he said lazily, but Stonefall wasn't fooled.

"We're... worrying," the gray tabby managed to say. "Tell us."

The toms looked at each other in two very different ways; Stonefall was grim and almost confrontational, tired of the way the other cat tried to shelter them, while the expression on Cloudtuft's face was unreadable, mingled curiosity and something else.

"It's just my dream," he said, giving in. "It felt... different. I only remember the one thing..."

"What was it?" Flamepaw curled her tail around her paws, shivering slightly in the icy air. Stomefall shifted almost imperceptibly

That look on his face again; it was back, and Stonefall didn't like it one bit. It was that detachedness to his sky-blue eyes, the distant, very-much-not-him way his voice murmured, that made Cloudtuft's answer send a chill coursing through the gray tabby's body, and not from the snow. The words were like an echo of someone else's, ringing grimly alone through the cold nighttime atmosphere.

"The fog... it envelops."


	21. The Fog Envelops

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The past few days, the land had begun to slope gradually upwards from the river, creating a little valley of sorts through which the body of water ran —a _glen_ , really, was the word that suited the peaceful little landscape— and Maplepool moved gladly to higher ground. She felt safer by the quaint little pine-tree forest, as far away from the rushing water as she could get.

Grassfur, of course, had refused to follow her up, not that she had asked him. He was a RiverClan cat through and through, and it was with relish that he padded alongside his friend the river, growing happier the further away she was from him.

It wasn't until last night that he'd moved to sleep on the highland.

They'd stopped for the night at a spot where the trees were sparse, and the night sky was clear, of clouds as well as treetops. The beautiful array of stars, a piece of Silverpelt, shone over them even when they were so far from the Clan territories. It gave her comfort, strengthened her heartbeat, washing her with gentle glowing light, and she admired it with a sort of reverence.

"What are you looking at?" Grassfur had barked over the burble of the river, sending his voice to her. As if he thought the question was too friendly, he added, "We're waking up at the same time tomorrow, so if you want to spend the whole night looking into space, that's on you."

"The stars," she'd informed him distractedly. His ill-mannered ways were standard fare now; she knew the pattern. Every morning he'd awaken with refreshed fury and mellowed out throughout the day —as far as Grassfur could mellow, anyway, which was _really not very much_ — only to start the cycle again the next day. She barely spared him a thought. They'd find the others soon, and then she wouldn't have to deal with it anymore, wouldn't have to work with only the one cat who made everything so difficult.

Silence; then, after a drawn-out pause, the scrabbling of claws against soil as he made his way up to see the sky. The valley's edges curved so that it would be hard to see the particular bit of Silverpelt she was admiring, or so she assumed.

That night, and this night, he slept closer to the stars. They were several foxlengths apart, him curled in the taller bit of grass by a large pine, her laying more in the open like she did in WindClan.

It was a clear-sky night, with little stirrings of breezes quite unlike the terrible winds that had gotten them into this predicament in the first place. Regardless, the night was a heavy blow to Maplepool's confidence.

It had only taken one to get separated.

This was their third night, a full three days of traveling, and familiar land was nowhere to be found. Were they going the wrong way? It had to be. But Grassfur acted like he knew what he was doing and she felt compelled to follow, as she always did; if other cats had plans, she'd listen. Although he wasn't sharing his plan with her, if he had one at all.

The troubles and worries roamed her thoughts freely, and Maplepool found that she couldn't sleep.

She tried focusing on her breathing. When that didn't work, reluctantly, she focused on Grassfur's, the way she used to listen to Bearclaw's when he slept and she was still wide awake. But while her brother's breathing was even and deep, soothing and familiar, this russet-pelted cat seemed to even _breathe_ angrily, inhaling sharply and exhaling long-suffering sighs. Back in WindClan, if neither of those listening techniques worked, Maplepool would wander the moor until she felt drowsy enough to return. Sometimes, that "until" would be never, and she would act like she'd rested when really she hadn't slept the whole night.

She _could_ do that now; she could get back before Grassfur even knew she was gone.

He hadn't told her she couldn't, but even if he had, why did it matter? He couldn't control her. She was her own cat.

The thoughts were mild, but they stirred something old inside her mind, and she shut them down quickly. At this point, she thought she might be willing to listen to him, if only to keep those ancient things at bay, safely asleep and collecting dust the way she'd so painstakingly made them.

 _I'll go. No point in trying to sleep if I can't._

Maplepool cast a glance at Grassfur, who was very much asleep, and set off.

Traces and wisps of smoke followed her as she went — _not smoke,_ fog _,_ she realized, _or mist_ — and padded deeper into the forest, keeping one eye on the stars to make sure she didn't get lost. It wasn't hard; the forest was small and not dense with trees, somewhat of a mix between ShadowClan territory and the moor, minus ShadowClan's muddy ground and WindClan's tall grass. The soil was certainly cool and wet, almost peaty, but not as sticky as a swamp.

An owl hooted.

Crickets chirped.

 _You know, I think it is becoming colder,_ Maplepool thought, feeling her fur stand on end as it was brushed by a light wind. _Maybe we actually are getting closer._

 _What's going on with the others? Oh, I hope they haven't frozen, or gotten separated— that would mean at least one cat is on their own... Even if we make it back to where we were before the blizzard, would they be there? Would they have gone onwards without us, or in search of us?_

She found it funny that she had no clue what any of them might do. She knew them, but not nearly well enough; she'd spent almost triple as much time with Grassfur as she had with Cloudtuft, and she didn't know what either of them would do in that situation. _Only days ago, I was in WindClan, with Bearclaw._

 _I want to go back._

Both the WindClan siblings harbored dislike towards the Moon Tunnels, the same way both hated change. Wanting to go back to the way things were— that was a common theme of theirs, wasn't it? Maplepool shook her head with an empty half-smile and walked onwards.

The forest was peaceful and lively at the same time, alight with the activities of nocturnal creatures and stirred by the breezes. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the fog growing thicker until it was a thin blanket of translucent white covering the floor of the woodland. _Maybe I should start heading out of here._

A mouse scuttled across the earth; Maplepool heard its tiny paws pattering against the ground, and she felt her mouth water against her will.

 _WindClan cats eat rabbit, Maplepool! Rabbits!_

 _WindClan cats survive, though. That's just prey, right there._

 _This isn't about survival. You know you just want to eat that mouse. A disgrace to the Clan, that's what you are._

There were rabbits in this forest, too, but she hadn't had mouse in _so long_. And it was so close...

But the fog was getting even more cloudy, so that she could barely see its brown shape in the midst of the white swaths, and it was also near midnight— really not the best time to go hunting. Deciding to forego the mouse, and wondering if she'd be able to catch it in the first place, Maplepool readied to trace her pawprints back to Grassfur. She turned around and froze.

The fog was creeping with an eerie, breeze-driven slowness across the soil, covering her tracks under thick, smoky white. Wisps of it reached out towards her, wrapping ivy-like tendrils around her pass, fading in and out of light depending on how the moonlight shone.

She had seen fog before; often paired with overcast skies, it would pass across WindClan's moors the morning after a rainy day followed by a clear night. It would highlight the purple-gray tones of moor heather, making their golden land take on a cooler, dimmer hue, an entirely new world.

Here, in the forest, the fog didn't do as much to affect appearances, save for making the peaceful place a little unnerving.

 _All right, I should really get back,_ Maplepool thought. She felt against the ground until her paws fell into the indents of their own prints, and she followed them by touch instead of sight. This was one of the thickest fogs she'd ever seen, and a strange one, at that; it hardly went up to her neck, instead of covering the whole atmosphere, as if someone had taken normal fog and condensed it tightly into a thinner layer.

She estimated that she was about halfway back when a frantic cry sliced through the air.

" _Maplepool_!"

It was definitely Grassfur, his rough and throaty timbre, yet it also definitely _couldn't_ be Grassfur because she had never heard a similar tone to this sort of distress and fear in the angry tom's voice before. Come to think of it, it was possible that he'd never called her by her name; she couldn't quite recall.

The sound helped her locate him and she ran to him, diving deeper into the thickest of the fog.

 _I can hardly see two steps in front of me!_

Now the fog was virtually opaque, like clouds fallen from the sky to land on the earth. "Grassfur?" she called, warily, once she thought she had reached their spot; she could hear the river's soft water-sounds if she pricked her ears.

"What in the name of StarClan?"

He sounded like normal Grassfur now, ever-irritated, disbelieving, grumbling Grassfur, and for some reason this brought a small bit of comfort to Maplepool.

"I'm here," she told him. "It's fog, just fog."

"Where are you— this doesn't feel right, this isn't normal fog, I can't see—"

She heard his pawsteps blundering further away from her, the opposite direction, and she took a step forward herself, reaching forward with her muzzle as if her whiskers could feel him. Another few steps and she could see his russet outline faintly against the fog, the slightest blur of red fur and gold eyes in the midst of it. He looked closer than she'd expected... he shouldn't be so hard to see...

For a moment as he turned his head, Maplepool could see his gaze flashing bright before clouding over. He mumbled something like "need to get out," still stumbling backwards with clumsy kitten-steps, apparently not seeing her.

There was the scraping of pebbles being shaken loose from the earth and the dull, barely noticeable thuds as they tumbled, then a _splish_ as they hit...

 _The river!_

 _Oh, no._

There was a _valley_ above the river. If those stones had fallen into water, Grassfur's paws would be nearby and next to follow.

"Stop!" she cried. "Don't move!"

His head was lowered, chin pressed to his head and fur laid flat like the attempt of a cat to appear nonthreatening in front of an intimidating enemy, but it jerked up when Maplepool shouted at him. His muddled golden eyes blinked rapidly as he searched for her, thankfully growing still.

"Need to get out of here," he said, louder, his normally brisk and businesslike tone a little duller than usual, any anger he held against her set aside in favor of the current situation. "Something...'s _wrong_ about this fog."

"And where are we supposed to go? The fog's not hurting us, we have to wait for it to pass," Maplepool responded, trying to keep her fur from standing on end and failing. Grassfur was shaking his head, slowly at first and more wildly now, not having any of it.

"I can't _see_ you," he said, and she pulled back on instinct at the sudden panic and fear, sharp as thorns, in his voice. "I can't see _anything._ "

The mottled she-cat could see him and a few shadowed trees in the background, just barely, but the tone of Grassfur's meow was enough to make her believe him. He was going on, his words rapid and slurring slightly together after the brief and abrupt bout of terror.

"All I can do is hear. The only thing there is is white, endless white, smoke and fog. Am I still dreaming?"

She'd never seen the tom so completely shaken and, in turn, it shook her to the insides of her bones. He was still going on, almost rambling about the fog. Maplepool clung to his voice, feeling panic setting in her own mind, feeling the world slip away below her paws. Was it just her imagination, born of paranoia as well as his words, or was his russet pelt fading away, growing the gray-white color of clouds? The fact that he was blinded made her fear that she, herself, would grow blind, and that fear in turn blurred her vision. It was a vicious cycle.

"It's only fog," he was saying, voice low and whispery— or was she just losing her hearing too? "Fog is all there is. I'm surrounded and burning in the cold, choking by air, dizzy with the ground solid below my paws. Just fog..." His voice shook like a leaf in leaf-fall, clinging to a branch long after it had turned brown.

"The fog envelops all," he said, and them his body gave a violet spasm, sending his hind legs off the edge of the valley.

She lunged for him.

The last Maplepool saw of Grassfur was his front paws, unsheathed and grabbing desperately onto the edge, moving a whisker downwards with each heartbeat. Then her paws landed on his and both cats' disappeared in a blaze of white and all was fog. She wouldn't have known that he was there, had it not been for the frenzied scrabbling of his back feet and the hot breath from his muzzle, although much of that was lost in the cool mist. The she-cat could barely feel his paws beneath hers, slipping slowly away.

Fog was everything.

"I've got you," she said weakly, although she really didn't; he was struggling, and she couldn't hold on much longer with sheathed paws. Would it be worse for him to fall from the she-couldn't-remember-how-high valley edge, down onto the lower ground or possibly the river, or to get punctured feet from her claws? She couldn't reach for his scruff; for one, she couldn't see it, and she suspected she might get unbalanced and bring the both of them down.

Flashes of memories— a violent, rushing gorge— a push— a screech— a reaching out but _not_ connecting, that time— and she made her choice, mind clouded by fear and the fog that was rushing around like thistledown both around and in her head. Her heart pounded feverishly, and she felt herself shaking.

Maplepool unsheathed her claws.

Grassfur roared, possibly more from the surprise than the pain, and flailed about, trying to get free. This only made matters worse.

"Stop, hold still, I'm trying to pull you up," Maplepool shouted over his angry yowling, but the fog seemed to swallow up both their voices until hers was no more than a whisper despite her efforts. _If Grassfur couldn't see and now I can't, and my hearing's getting lost to the fog as well... has his already gone?_

Her words of consolation meant nothing if they were taken before he could get them.

So, instead of talking, Maplepool jerked his paws upwards with hers.

But he was fighting her, wild and rabid. He was a solid RiverClan tom plus gravity plus a moon's difference in age in his favor, and she was a wiry WindClan she-cat, built lightly for running on moors. There was no world where she could win, not like this.

His thrashing pulled the both of them down.

As Maplepool rolled down the hard earth slope, she realized dully that the drop wasn't very long at all —she'd been imagining the gorge in her head, hadn't she?— and her trying to help might have only made things worse. But the fog clouding her senses... and memories, the one memory, a different drop down a steeper edge into murderous rapids...

And she found that she didn't regret her choice.

The last thing Maplepool noticed was that she _didn't_ notice landing. It was as if she had rolled right into a soft nest of fog, wrapping itself around her into a gentle cocoon of the warmest bird feathers. She did not fight it, happy to let it wash her resurfaced recollections away.

 _Fog is all and all is fog..._

 _The fog, it envelops._

Then Maplepool drifted easily into a dreamless sleep, no different from the fog save for being black and empty instead of white, white mist.

...

The next morning dawned lucid, peaceful, the pale orange-pink sunrise colors melting into a cheerful light blue and spirited bits of golden light. A few songbirds twittered, notes piercing through the chilly leaf-bare atmosphere, but this did not awaken the two cats lying limp by the river's bank.

Beyond the river and the sodden bodies was a cave, a great mass of gray stone with an open maw nestled under a tall tree, and from the cave hobbled a thin, ragged figure. She was orange and white, predominantly the latter, and brindled tabby in the colored splotches on her fur. Her pelt seemed to sag off of her bones, tattered with hair missing in a few places, yet she held herself with a tired sort of grace even as her worn paws hobbled towards the waterlogged felines at the riverside.

The presence of this gray-whiskered she-cat did not wake them up, either.

The cat eyed the two bodies with a sharp hazel gaze, flickering somewhere between curiosity and apathy, a sort of expectance dappled with interest; anything but surprised, she was.

She lifted her white muzzle to the sky, feeling her bones creak, and nodded.

It seemed to have no effect; the gentle activity of the serene evergreen forest went on its merry way, unchanged by the actions of its odd old inhabitant.

But the she-cat was satisfied, and returned her line of sight to the unconscious cats, just as one began to stir.

* * *

 **This marks the end of the blizzard arc, part one! Yeah, there's a part two. The blizzard arc is quite long, and you're either going to love or hate part two, but stick with me— we'll return to our standard Trials journey soon. For now, expect to see a lot of Grassfur and Maplepool. And by a lot, I mean... five chapters. Sorry. Hang in there.**

 **(Wait, you said it was long, and now you're saying it'll be over soon?)**

 **Yes! Because we reached 100 reviews before chapter 20, I'll be holding a week-long marathon starting today. There will be an update to** **The Trials** **every day for the entire week. Technically, it ends on Friday, but you'll be getting your usual Saturday update as well (although that'll be an Impossibility update).**

 **Finally, since I'm leaving an author's note anyway: if you haven't checked out** **The Impossibility** **, my previous "really recommend you read this" has changed into a "you gotta read this," due to a few plot tweaks. Honestly, it's got more action than Trials. Go on. Give it a try. If you happen to be here from the future, we are on Chapter 3 right now, so read up to there and continue binge-reading this fic until the next author's note.**

 **See you tomorrow!**


	22. Sapere

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Maplepool awakened to the rushing of the river. She had been in a state of limbo, suspended between consciousness and dreams, floating on fog softer than sheep's wool.

But then the fog had lowered, lowered her gently to the ground, until she was no longer flying in euphoria but awake and lying on soil. The mottled she-cat felt heavy and realized her pelt was soaked through with river water, carrying the unpleasant scent of reeds and mud.

The fog had been so _nice_. Couldn't she go back? It was too exhausting, being chained to the ground, once she had felt the freedom of the sky... constantly chasing freedom, yes, that was her, and how could she ever stop after just a taste of it...?

Slowly, her own mental fog began to clear.

She was lost— no, _they_ were lost. Was the equally wet body beside her Grassfur?

They needed to find the others. Cloudtuft. Flamepaw. Stonefall. For the Moon Tunnels, for WindClan, for Bearclaw. Their names and her purpose pulled her upwards, willing her to rise, although she did not yet move.

She needed to figure out what had happened and get them back to where they were; this was a different area. There was no valley, but it was the same river, the same forest; what else could it be? Maplepool remained lying down for a few moments, no longer from desire, but to organize the events of last night. They were surprisingly easy to gather, coming to her in a steady stream of thoughts, unlike the fragmented memories after the blizzard.

The fog came and drowned all their senses. She's tried to help Grassfur; he'd fallen and brought her down with him. It felt like they had landed on fog, but that was impossible... had they hit the river? It must be. They were sopping wet and right by the river, in a whole new place from the one she remembered.

How had they not _died?_ It wasn't like the blizzard. Back then, Grassfur had been conscious, at least in time for him to save them both. Water was danger. Rivers were death. Maplepool _knew_ that, had seen it with her own eyes.

 _I can't waste time thinking about it._

With that thought, the fawn-and-ginger cat rose to her paws, carefully moving away from Grassfur, and realized that there was a cat watching them just a fox-length away.

Her first thought was that the cat was very, very old.

Her first reaction was essentially "wake Grassfur and skedaddle," but before she could listen to it, their eyes met and Maplepool's instinct to flee fell away all at once. The cat didn't look dangerous, just... neutral. A little quietly sad, maybe, or perhaps she was just seeing her own reflection.

"Hrm." The she-cat made a noise of acknowledgement before moving to watch Grassfur, in no way wary of getting ambushed or attacked by this younger, stronger cat she had just turned her back to.

The second thought Maplepool had about the cat was that her eyes were hazel, a blend of the pale browns and greens of the forest itself, sparkling with life despite her age and beaten-down exterior. The WindClan cat trailed her own eyes over the raggedy elder's pelt, splotches of orange tabby on dirty white, and decided she was no threat— strange, yes, but not dangerous. She relaxed a fraction of a whisker's length, still on alert.

"This cat, he sleeps on. A sign that he is more lost," the orange-and-white cat said idly. Her meow had a hint of a rasp to it, but it was the accent in her voice that made Maplepool curious; it was not anything like a Clan cat's voice. She couldn't quite place her paw on it, but it wasn't important, in any case.

Maplepool stretched a paw out towards Grassfur but didn't touch. His pelt was a dark blood-red when it was wet, fur slicked down but still spiking in tufts.

"He's only sleeping?" she asked. The tom's breathing, if it existed, was so shallow she couldn't see it.

"Neither my fog nor this river seeks to harm. The river, it is gentle, and has brought many a cat to land. The symbol of this forest's peace." The strange cat turned her head back to Maplepool and blinked in a tranquil way.

"Your fog," Maplepool echoed, but the she-cat did not elaborate.

"Patience. We await his awakening."

Silence fell, with only the river gurgling and light breezes rustling pine needles. Maplepool tilted her head to the cheerful, bubbling water. The only river she knew had been... well, RiverClan's, and that one was nothing like this, especially the part where it became a gorge. It was violent, roaring like blood in her ears, anything _but_ gentle.

 _I don't know who this strange cat is, but I think she might have a point._

 _It does seem... peaceful._

 _And it did bring us to land, didn't it, if I'm right about what happened last night? And maybe it helped days ago, the night of the blizzard._

The other half of Maplepool's head was going _it's a_ river _, it kills cats and can't be trusted, and also that's not how rivers work, rivers aren't magical and sentient!_

"How far did the fog go?" the orange-and-white cat asked suddenly, hazel eyes sharpening to focus on Maplepool with a disconcerting intensity.

 _How far?_ "I, uh...?" offered Maplepool weakly. _Like how far into the forest?_

"What was lost to you?" the stranger pressed. When Maplepool struggled to find a response, she went on. "Sight would be the first to go, if it was lost at all..."

 _Oh. That's what she means._ "Sight, definitely," Maplepool said, a little wary. _Maybe this cat has some answers. Do I trust her? What harm is there in telling her more? What could she do to me, anyway?_ "But, er, he lost it first," she continued, nodding to Grassfur. She shifted her paws and thought she saw the wet fur on Grassfur's neck stand up, prickling. "And I think hearing?"

She decided it wouldn't matter much if she shared all of this to the cat whose name she didn't even know. If anything, it would help. The old cat seemed to know _something_ about this forest, those mysteries of last night, this fog... _It was_ her _fog. At last, that's what she said._

"Hm. You are very lost," the gray-whiskered cat informed Maplepool, who was unsure of how to respond to that.

It was _true._ She and Grassfur had been lost ever since the blizzard. But hadn't the cat said something about Grassfur being more lost than her? How did that work? _We're really the same amount of lost, if you ask me._

Maplepool wanted answers. She was tempted to wake Grassfur herself, speed up the process a little, but she got the strong notion that her efforts would be in vain.

"Could you... tell me more about the river?" Maplepool asked tentatively, adding a "please" after that for good measure. Perhaps she could get more insight into _that_ , at least.

"The river, it is a friend to all. None have drowned in this river for as long as I have lived, or perhaps longer still. It carries its passengers until they can be deposited."

"But how?"

The cat gazed at her, shrugging her shoulders in what managed to be an elegant way. "How is it that you are here?" she asked, sweeping her tail across the ground. "How is it that we are on this earth? That we are cats, and not the butterfly so easily windblown, the blade of grass so easily crushed, when all those too are forms of life? The river, why would it not be a friend?"

"That's..." Maplepool trailed off, blinking rapidly.

"Days ago," the cat went on, as if "how" had never been asked, "the blizzard troubled our river-friend, and it was tumultuous that night, yet still it tried with valiance to save any windswept creatures."

Maplepool was suddenly keenly aware of the river water soaking her pelt. "You know about the blizzard?" _Does that mean we're close to it? Are we actually better off for the fog instead of worse?_ But the old cat had returned her gaze to Grassfur and did not reply.

The spiky-furred cat had started to move.

"Very lost," the other cat commented again, with another harrumphing noise like she one she'd made when Maplepool had come to.

It was interesting, seeing the russet tom revive. His eyes opened, wide like a fish's, looking at a point somewhere past the watching she-cats. Slight tremors coursed through his body, and rivulets of water ran down his spine, droplets dislodged by his movements. Maplepool wondered if she'd done the same. She didn't remember doing this, but then again, she suspected Grassfur would not remember this either. _Do all the cats wake up like this?_

 _All the cats._ The way the stranger had spoken made it seem like there'd been others before them, others caught by the fog and sent to her.

"The cat, he awakens," the old cat said dryly as the russet tom lurched to his feet, faster than Maplepool had, if she recalled correctly.

"The cat says _who in the world are you_ and _where in the world am I_ ," Grassfur meowed irately, glaring at the old cat. Maplepool felt a sudden desire to collapse with relief right then and there, for some inexplicable reason. This was Grassfur, finally, definitely, completely Grassfur, not the scared and desperate cat she hadn't recognized last night.

 _Although he didn't react as violently as I expected._

Or maybe he had, for a few brief, unnoticeable heartbeats, before dismissing the stranger as a non-threat like Maplepool had.

"The world is quite large," the orange-and-white cat informed him, "so it would be best to start with the first inquiry."

Grassfur shook out his fur, discourteously splashing water over the other two cats. Maplepool didn't particularly mind, since she was already wet— an apology would have been nice, but she knew better than to expect such a thing, and it wasn't worth causing a problem over. She ifnored it and angled her ears toward the old she-cat, ready to get answers at last.

"I," the cat said, "am Sapere."

Maplepool's ears, trained to hear warrior names, heard _Sap-ear_ despite it being a little off from her accent, but the illusion was shattered by the third syllable. Sap-ear-eh but not quite, Sapere, in no way reminiscent of a Clan cat's name.

 _Come to think of it, I should have asked her for her name. Why didn't I? I just never noticed any chance in the conversation..._

 _But you_ are _horrible at that, aren't you, Maplepaw?_ asked a voice in her head, which she ushered into the background with pricles of guilt and discomfort.

"Unhelpful," Grassfur said briskly. "Go on."

 _He's worse._

"Sapere, keeper of magic, messenger of dreams." The newly introduced Sapere seemed to wear her title with majestic pride.

Grassfur gave an audible snort, and Maplepool was tempted to kick him. Clan cat or not, all elders deserved respect, although Sapere's labels were admittedly odd. She settled for giving him a warning stare. He responded with a glare, no doubt holding back many angry words in order to show a fake, united front to the stranger.

"Can you tell us about the fog now?" she requested, adding an extra dash of politeness to make up for Grassfur's lack thereof. The tom looked equal parts irritated and bewildered; he wasn't yet aware of Sapere's connection to the fog.

"The fog, it envelops," the orange-and-white cat said. Hearing her out-of-place thoughts spoken by what appeared to be their rightful owner made Maplepool feel rather unnerved. Those four words were the last thing she remembered thinking.

"A signal of cats astray, it brings to me the lost, and the river spits them on my shores so I can help them find their way."

"There were a thousand better words you could have used instead of _spits_ ," Grassfur interjected. "What ar— am I, river spit-up?"

 _He was going to say_ we _, wasn't he? What are_ we _?_ Maplepool gave him another look, but this time he ignored her, eyes trained on Sapere, gaze devoid of the hatred or spite he always showed her.

"Tell me, now, where do you seek to be?" the old cat meowed, unruffled by the russet tom's rudeness.

"The place where the blizzard happened," Maplepool answered before Grassfur could speak. She could practically hear the _this cat doesn't know about the blizzard, fishface_ running through his thoughts and felt a flash of satisfaction when Sapere nodded mildly. The orange-and-white she-cat cast her gaze to right, narrowing in on a fir tree.

"That tree," she said, "its branches wave, urging me on. An omen of good things to come. Sapere, magic-keeper, dream-messenger, will aid these lost cats."

"Really." Grassfur did not elaborate, but the one word conveyed his skepticism quite well.

"So you'd... deliver a message through dreams?" Maplepool guessed. "To someone we know?" She saw Grassfur rolling his eyes with an impatient huff and forced herself not to bristle. This time, it was the other she-cat to give him an admonishing look, and somehow it managed to make the prickly cat appear taken aback.

"This one is smart," Sapere said, pointing with her tail to Maplepool, although the comment seemed directed more to Grassfur than the actual "this one" herself. "That flower, she has not stepped on it." The elder angled her muzzle towards a bright yellow wildflower beside Maplepool, who blinked at it; she hadn't noticed that it was there. "A manifestation of deeper intelligence."

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Grassfur said, his voice rough but not snappy.

There was something... almost... _friendly_ in both their tones, even though the only thing Maplepool got from it was that Sapere was insulting Grassfur by indirectly calling him _not_ smart, and Grassfur was insulting Sapere by calling her ridiculous. She thought there might be something right going over her head, but couldn't figure it out.

"I'll take your message to the 'someone you know' and send them this way, as well as locate them; the blizzard, it was days ago, and stripped the earth of its resources. Reasonable cats, they would move on."

"Cloudtuft wouldn't," muttered Grassfur, almost inaudible.

Maplepool spoke over him. "That would be wonderful. Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me. My services come at a price—"

"Okay, right." Grassfur flicked his tail and stepped in front of Maplepool, head lowered to look at Sapere with a threat in the angle of his head. "Let's get this straight: you're asking for a price in return for... for some lie about magic. And dreams. And you thought we would _believe_ you?"

Sapere twitched an ear, meeting his gaze silently.

"I might've been willing to humor you and waste some time if there wasn't a catch, but you're just an old ragged cat lying to get— to get—" Grassfur spluttered. "What is it you even _want?_ "

"Me, I _am_ an old ragged cat," Sapere said mildly, appearing completely unruffled by the russet tom's accusation and light display of aggression. "Old ragged cats, we require assistance. Tasks, they need doing."

"An old ragged cat lying to get free labor," finished Grassfur. "Sorry. Don't have the time for crazy cats. Maplepool, let's go."

The said fawn-and-ginger cat opened her mouth to protest, but Sapere was the one to respond.

"That grass," the tabby said serenely, flicking her tail towards a sad looking clump of foliage, "it's dry and wilted. Very sad."

"Not another 'omen'—"

"Just like you."

Maplepool choked back her laughter, eyes watering with the effort. Grassfur drew back, half staring at the old she-cat, who returned his gaze evenly. Once she was able to catch her breath, the mottled she-cat finally spoke.

"Look, we are exponential amounts of lost and here comes a plan that's a little more solid than 'pick a direction and start walking.' I'm going to do it whether you're in or not. It won't hurt, and even if she is lying, what harm is there in helping a cat who needs it?" _Although I think Sapere is telling the truth. She knows things... the fog, the blizzard, the river, and it all kind of makes sense, in a weird way. At the worst, we'd waste a bit of time and energy —not wasted, just used to help someone else, I wonder what_ he _would think of that— and go back on our way. At the best... it might actually work?_

It was a fear, a lack of companionship, that had driven Maplepool to team with Grassfur, but she wasn't alone anymore. In all honesty, Sapere the stranger she'd known for about an hour seemed to make better company than Grassfur the violently bitter Clan cat she'd known for days. She trusted this new cat, she realized, despite her eccentricities.

"This one, I said she is smart," Sapere said in a partly sing-song voice, beckoning with her tail. "Come along. I, as messenger of dreams, will have you back home quite soon."

 _Home._ It wasn't home, but Maplepool didn't think that detail needed explanation. It was where she was supposed to be, and she wouldn't _have_ a home for at least a moon. The WindClanner paused before going after Sapere, looking back at Grassfur with an unspoken question. _Somehow, despite everything, I don't really want to leave him. I don't think I should._ But she couldn't bring herself to ask him to come with them, either, the way she should if she really wanted to be a good cat.

He scowled at her for what seemed like an eternity before painstakingly moving to follow them.

Sapere entered a dark, tunnel-like hole in a great boulder that laid nearby. As all three cats disappeared into the entrance to the... den?, Maplepool thought she heard a grumble from the russet tom.

"My claws, they're sharp. The sign of an impending shredding if this ends up wasting our time."

She sighed and walked towards their uncertain future, head full of questions, wondering if she had made the right choice.


	23. Sidequest

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

 _Keeper of magic and messenger of dreams!_

Grassfur lashed his tail with scorn, shaking his head to rid it of he words that continued to dance around in his mind. He glared ahead at the high-stepping Maplepool as the three cats walked down a short tunnel into the conveniently placed, decidedly creepy cave. It was not a long walk, and he barely had time to gather his thoughts.

He'd not had any time since waking up, really; he'd opened his eyes, feeling strangely well-rested, to vaguely sore front paws and a morning full of absurd events.

Sapere unnerved him. The russet tom wouldn't say it out loud, but he got the notion from her that she... _knew something_ , however insane she seemed (which was very. Very insane. Crazy, as he'd made sure to let her know). His rough words —old ragged cat— had been half truth, half an automatic defense mechanism. It wasn't every day you met an eccentric, toothless cat who claimed to have the powers of StarClan.

Well, she might have teeth —he hadn't been paying attention— and she hadn't mentioned StarClan, but magic and dream messages were very much StarClan things, weren't they? There was no denying that almost all the tangible Moon Tunnels gifts had an element of magic. Plus, if there were urgent disasters that couldn't wait for the next group of apprentices to reach the tunnels and return, their ancestors would communicate with the Clans' medicine cats through dreams.

So Grassfur knew such powers existed, but that was _StarClan_ , and this was a mad old cat who had nothing to do with Clan cats one bit.

Yet there was something about her that made him... want to be... _different_ around her. To stop slouching, pick up his paws, act like a respectable cat, polished and poised, to, to...

 _To what? Impress her? Gain her approval?_ He snorted. _That's never been something I want to do. If cats don't like me the way I am, why bother with them? Why pretend to be someone I'm not?_ There was no appeal in cats liking you because they saw someone else.

 _I'm just fine the way I am. Sweetleaf understands. She'd tell me to follow my heart._

Grassfur felt a flash of pain stab through his right forepaw as he placed it down a little too heavily and hissed under his breath. He had a vague recollection of needles pricking his paws from last night.

 _But I don't know where my heart lies._ On the surface, things were easy— this was obviously fake, Maplepool was an idiot, he should have left to find the others on his own just like he'd so wished for the past few days and let her flounder alone here.

Still, the fog, the memories of the fog... it had left him disoriented, and he didn't think he knew what to do or where to go anymore, if he even had in the first place. He barely remembered what had happened last nignt, save for the vague remembrance of saying things, words that weren't his, and falling into nothing. Confusion, fear.

Other cats meant safety. He might not enjoy being stuck with Maplepool, especially with the knowledge that he'd truly had the chance to leave her and didn't take it, but Sapere didn't annoy him, however else he might feel about her. It was a little refreshing, meeting someone after many —five?— days of being stuck with the one cat you detested. Would this be better than a silent journey home? He could deal with being alone, he was sure. It wasn't like Maplepool had been any help.

His mind continued in tortured circles until they reached their destination.

"Home, it is here," the old orange-and-white tabby meowed simply as she ducked past hanging lichen and entered the actual cave. Grassfur glanced up as he brushed through the lichen; it appeared to be stuck to the top of the cave with some material that he couldn't quite see in the low light.

"Home" was a disorganized mess, unkempt with leaf litter and dried plants strewn around. Some leaves and stems hung from the cave walls by cobwebs, while others were tucked into nooks and crannies in the stone. A few prey bones, white and gleaming as if they'd been cleaned, were scattered across the ground. Grassfur tried not to twitch as he took deep breaths and averted his eyes to the ceiling, trying to avoid looking at the disorganized mess. He caught the scent of lavender and something sweeter, mixed with the foresty musk of leaf litter and sharpness of pine sap that he'd grown accustomed to over the past few days.

Although... if he did look _closely_ at it, there was a sort of order to the disorder, controlled mayhem, in a way. Colorful herbs —flowers— were limited to one area of the cave, looking like chaos with all their different shades of blue and purple and yellow and red and white, but if he really stepped back... he could see it start to make sense.

The way stems hung with their leaves drooping down, easy to pluck, not arranged straight in a row like Grassfur would have made it, but almost in a shape where a tail could curl around that herb while paws grabbed others.

 _You're being ridiculous. It's pandemonium, that's what it is._

The stone walls of the cave looked ready to fall apart at any moment, criss-crossed with cracks that let the gentle glow of sun filter through, casting broken light-patterns on the leafy soil floor.

"It looks lovely," Maplepool said.

Grassfur's thoughts reared, ready to snap at her in his head — _stop being so_ fake _, it's obviously in disarray, 'lovely' is not how any cat would describe this place_ — but something in her voice made him look at her, actually truly turn to look at her for the first time in a while or possibly forever, and as he did he caught the softness in her amber eyes. They were almost sad, those eyes, and there was a slight tilt to her head and a half smile on her muzzle that made him realize that in her two words laid a quiet wistfulness.

She was being sincere.

He didn't know what to make of that, having never heard a single sincere thing from her unless he counted the one outburst in Twolegplace. It had all just been forced politeness these past days, pelts prickling on both sides, she who cared enough to pretend and he who didn't give a fishtail. She'd irked him with it, but it was _easy_ , at least, to hate her that way.

Tangled his newfound confusion, Grassfur took the last easy way out.

"It looks like a mess," he grumbled ill-manneredly, glancing at Sapere and turning away. At least _they_ had a mutual understanding about not slipping carefully around each others' _feelings_ like meek little minnows.

He thought he heard Maplepool mutter "just like you" under her breath and bristled slightly, curling his claws. _Care to say that to my face?_ She did not, but gave him one of her looks. The russet tom lifted a forepaw and licked it absently, narrowing his eyes as he held it to the light. Clean puncture marks dotted his paw. He lifted the other; same result.

 _What exactly happened last night? Why can't I remember?_

"I'm sure you both have many questions," Sapere said, "but I do get the impression that you are in a rush. Details, they need not be known. Your first task, it is ready for you."

"Wait," Grassfur interrupted. "How many tasks are there exactly? How long is this going to take?" He shot a glare at Maplepool. They hadn't received nearly enough information for her to be agreeing to deals willy-nilly.

"Some," the old she-cat said unhelpfully, "and perhaps two days at least for the messaging of dreams. The efficiency of your work, much depends on it."

"And after the... dream-messenging?"

"I will send you to your cat, or them to you. Some days' journey it will be, I expect, if you were separated by the blizzard."

"Right," Grassfur said dryly. "Keep us for some days to do your dirty work, then send us off in a random direction. Nice evil plot." He wasn't going to let her forget that he didn't trust her. _How does she know about the blizzard anyway? Maplepool probably told her, the fish-brain, but that doesn't seem quite right either._

"Yes, yes," she said, brushing off his accusations without a twitch of her tail, "it will be some days, so I believe you might want a proper place to rest, in this midst of this mess." Now she did twitch, or at least her whiskers did. Grassfur got the notion that she was amused at him, but somehow he didn't feel annoyed. "Your first task: create yourselves some nests."

"That's hardly a task," Grassfur pointed out. "More of a thing that we'd _have_ to do, if we're going to stay here. Which I'm having second thoughts about, mind you." The words coming out of his mouth were rather strange, a mix of his own normal prickliness and something notably not-Grassfur that he couldn't place his paw on.

"A thing you have to do, if you stay here— that is a task, is it not?" Sapere pointed out.

 _Huh._ He'd been thinking of her "tasks" as being things like "clean out _my_ nest" or "catch me some fish," not this. If she just wanted to use them, why would she care about their comfort? Or maybe this was another trick.

"What... _other_ tasks will we have next?" Maplepool questioned, tilting her head. Grassfur curled his claws, intent on hating her, focusing on hating her so he didn't forget. He'd almost forgotten _her_ , really, hiding in the background like a typical cat with no personality.

"Some tasks," the orange-and-white cat said, "they will be for your own benefit. Materials, I require them for the ritual of dream-messaging. Other tasks, they will be payment. Helping an old ragged cat."

"I'll have you know," said Grassfur, in that strange new borderline show-offy way he was speaking, way less threatening than he really should be, "if I do these tasks, it's not because I believe your made-up thing about magic, but because I decided to help an old ragged cat from the goodness of my heart." He let the sarcasm drip a little heavily, with no real bite to his meow.

He liked how he could call her an old ragged cat, several times over, and she wasn't offended. He liked how she called herself an old ragged cat like she knew his words were true and she appreciated them, or perhaps she was making it a joke between the two of them.

"And _you_ may know," Sapere responded with an exaggerated sniff, "that if I wished for cats to simply do my work, I'd have chosen others. This cat," —she poked him in the chest with a paw and he didn't recoil, didn't feel the desire to snap back— "he grumbles too much. Sour words and sour aura, they will wilt all my herbs and rile the bees."

He liked how she freely insulted him, too, instead of playing nice. He did _not_ like the small prick of hurt at her words. He wasn't a cat hurt by anything but claws and teeth. Sour words, sour... "aura," those were all him and that was okay. Really, perfectly fine.

Also, that was a good point she had there. He wouldn't choose himself to do his dirty work, either.

 _Wait—_

"Did you say bees?" he asked. At the same time, Maplepool meowed, "You said bees?"

They glanced at each other. She looked away first, a flash of surprise in her widened amber eyes. He narrowed his own, masking whatever feeling was trying to show itself, shaking out his fur.

Sapere looked lightly amused but did not answer. "Nests, they await creation. Go on. Try to return before midday."

Grassfur did not need further prompting to back out of the cave and make his way back to the outside and sunshine, ignoring Maplepool.

 _Midday,_ he scoffed inwardly. _As if it would take me that long to weave a nest._ The russet tom stepped out of the tunnel and into the light, feeling soft peat beneath his paws. Despite being leaf-bare, it was warm enough that he noticed the heat just slightly. He tilted his head to the sun, squinting.

 _Oh._ It was later in the morning than he'd expected. _All right. I can still get back with plenty of time before midday. Definitely._ He heard pawsteps behind him as Maplepool emerged and left her behind, moving to a comfortable patch of reeds and cattails by the river. Honestly, he'd be happy to sleep right there every night, close to the water and home, in a way.

He also wanted to one-up Maplepool on his nest for the satisfaction of it, though, so he suposed he'd deal with sleeping in a cave.

 _Wonder what she's going to do._ He snipped the tallest reeds with his teeth, creating a neat pile. _WindClan cats sleep out in the open, don't they? It's not like she knows how to make a nest. If she tries to ask me—_

But when he glanced in her direction, the fawn-and-ginger pelt was nowhere to be seen.

Well.

The best way to go about things, really, was to just not care at all. Not that he was always good at doing so.

Grassfur found that, as he started to weave his nest, he couldn't quite work as fast as he liked. His limbs felt sore; not surprising, considering that he'd been walking nonstop for days and apparently beaten up by a river last night (at least, that was what the wetness of his pelt and other context clues told him, but how could an unconscious cat survive a river?).

Not to mention the fact that every reed had to be put in just the right place, every stick he used to support it just the right size. That was how it had always been, back when he was an apprentice, creating his own nest. Back then, though, the warriors would scold him for taking too long, forcing him to give up, scrap his way through the whole thing, and sleep stubbornly in a nest that half fell apart until Sweetpaw made him a proper one.

Grasspaw, then, had tried to make her an absolutely perfect nest in return, in the spare time he had, but it fell apart one too many times during its making and became a smashed pile of sticks and reeds tossed angrily into the gorge.

He was older now, but not much changed. His claws twitched as he reached for a stick that jutted out just a bit too far, pulling back st the last moment. Experience told him bad things would happen if he tried pushing it in further, but if he could only just...

The russet tom closed his eyes, took a heaving breath, and rotated the nest so that the out-of-place stick faced away from him. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch, poking at the back of his mind no matter how he tried to ignore it. Several times his paw brushed the tiny stick that was causing so much trouble, until finally the nest was finished— not the way he'd wanted it to be, not nearly perfect enough, but it would have to do.

Almost sunhigh.

Gritting his teeth, fighting the frustration that threatened to boil over, Grassfur shoved the nest roughly back to the cave. That wasn't the best way to go about it, seeing as the ground was mostly wet peat, but he managed with miminal internal cursing. He might have picked it in his teeth and tried to walk with the unwieldy mess for a spell, only to resume pushing with his forepaws despite the small, odd twinges of pain. Still, all things considered, the important part was that he entered Sapere's cave pushing a not-too-shabby, proudly RiverClan den in front of him.

He couldn't withhold a surprised blink when he saw that Maplepool had already returned, but luckily she didn't notice. Sapere was there, beside the mottled WindClan cat, and she had been watching the lichen when Grassfur made his way in with those oddly sharp hazel eyes. She blinked in acknowledgment and returned her line of sight to the lump of green foliage in of the she-cats' paws, Grassfur following her gaze.

The tom relaxed slightly when he saw that Maplepool's nest was not done at all; it was still in construction, a moss nest akin to ThunderClan's, or at least what he imagined ThunderClan cats' nests would be like. _That doesn't count. She's getting help from the cat who's been living in this forest._

 _But she collected the moss herself, didn't she? Sapere didn't leave. How does a WindClan cat know how to collect moss?_

 _Well, they have to gather it to carry water, don't they?_ He was not so sure.

Grassfur moved his own nest to the corner furthest away from Maplepool, trying to disturb the leaves on the cave floor as little as possible. To his left, he noticed that there was a slab of stone slightly above the cave floor, jutting out from the wall, with bracken creating what seemed like a cozy nest of ferns. _Sapere's?_

 _You know what, I don't care. I'm not going to get involved in this. It has absolutely no relevance whatsoever to anything important._

Maplepool had finished her nest and was tucking it into her own corner. Sapere stood and padded to the center where she could see both cats, opening her jaws to speak.

"Now. Details, they must be figured out. Your names?"

It was only at the question that Grassfur realized he _hadn't_ given the old cat his name yet. Caught off guard, he was slow to respond, and Maplepool did first.

"I'm Maplepool and he's Grassfur."

"You don't speak for me," he hissed at her, ears flattened. It was incredible, really, how a single sentence from her could set him so on edge. _And he's Grassfur!_ As if "he" was a helpless little kit who had no idea about the conversation that was going on, so that she needed to say his name for him, like she was doing him a favor...

"Very well. Maplepool and not-Grassfur," Sapere said, unaffected by the sudden tension as Maplepool sucked in a heavy breath and abruptly turned her head from him, "I request the name of the cat you wish me to message."

 _This_ time Maplepool was silent, which was also annoying, because it should be a two-cat decision. Grassfur's name was his own; whatever name they chose would be between the both of them. _Fine. If she wants to be like that..._

"Cloudtuft," he meowed firmly, not sparing the mottled she-cat a glance. _It's not like we have much choice. Stonefall probably wouldn't be able to talk about it at all; Flamepaw might get so excited she knocks herself out._ It was the first time in a few days that Grassfur had thought about the ThunderClan and ShadowClan parts of their group; at this point, their names had a foreign feeling to them. He wondered briefly what they were doing and decided he had no clue. _Waiting for us, with Cloudtuft? Because Cloudtuft_ is _waiting, he must be..._

"And does not-Grassfur speak for you?" Sapere questioned Maplepool, who offered a distinctly unfeeling "I guess. Yes."

"I'm not not-Grassfur," Grassfur informed the old she-cat after the second time she'd used this name. "I'm Grassfur."

"Then Maplepool spoke well for you," she replied. "Consider making her your diplomat. She does a fine job."

Try as he might, Grassfur could not miss the flash of surprised delight on Maplepool's face, and scowled quietly to himself. _Am I the only one around here who hates her? Does Sapere like her better than me?_ He froze. _Why do I care?_

"Cloudtuft," Sapere went on, looking unreadable as always. " _Cloudtuft_. Very well. Are you ready for your second task?"

Grassfur still had quite a few misgivings about this entire dream-messaging business in general, but he'd already wasted a full morning— he could let the rest of the day go. _And then maybe I'll sneak off at night. Get myself back on track. Just keep walking upstream._

Both cats nodded their readiness to whatever the second task might be. The russet tom sighed as he pushed aside all the questions he'd never ask, would get answers to, questions like _who are you exactly_ and _how does this even work_ and _am I insane for even thinking it's plausible?_

He had the strong notion that he'd been thrown out of one story by the fog and swept up into an entirely different tale.


	24. Tentative

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

It is not good for a WindClan cat to like forests.

Maplepool knew that; she'd known it from her first day as an apprentice, when she'd paused by the ThunderClan border on their tour of the territory and stared into its warm, open branches and bright greenleaf bracken just a little too long and got cuffed over the ear. Again, when they reached ShadowClan territory, her heart pulled her paws closer to the cozy shade of trees until her toes met the gritty Thunderpath that divided then. The group had circled around WindClan territory, exploring the not-much-there-to-be-explored-because-it's-all-dry-moorland, then followed RiverClan's border to the willow tree, where her claws had itched to sink into soft bark and climb.

 _I thought I was over that._

 _I love WindClan. It's_ my _Clan. Heather and plains are the place to be._

Unfortunately, she'd spent the last four days in a picturesque evergreen forest, and she could almost imagine being content living there (so long as her den was away from the river). But why was she imagining it in the first place? She was a disgrace to everything WindClan stood for, really, feeling this way she tried so hard _not_ to feel.

And Maplepool really had thought that it was a thing of her past, liking forests, just like everything else. It was unnerving to see how thinly it had been veiled, just waiting for the right circumstances to try and snap through.

 _Maybe Bearclaw was right._

She pushed the thought away, tucked the little trill of serene peace she felt under what she was _supposed_ to feel — _I_ don't _like this forest, the ground is peaty and wet and sticky and unpleasant, I'm WindClan and used to dry soil and open sky, I'm a little claustrophobic right now_ — and focused on the present.

Sapere was leading her and Grassfur deeper into the forest, thankfully away from the river. The two Clan cats both had full bellies; the loner had left them on their own to hunt before collecting them. No one spoke; sound was limited to the brushing of fur against ferns and cheerful birdsong.

"You know, I'm not really enthused about following a mysterious old ragged cat into an equally mysterious forest," Grassfur sniped, breaking the silence.

 _But you're doing it,_ Maplepool was tempted to snap back. She internally recoiled, the way she did every time he treated the orange-and-white cat in his rude way, but Sapere flicked her ears and looked entirely unperturbed, letting the insult roll off her back the way she always did. She might not be a Clan cat, but she was an elder! Why would he —how could he— be so disrespectful, and why wasn't the old cat bothered by it?

"Worry not," Sapere responded mildly. "Following, it is no more." She halted gracefully. Maplepool had been watching Grassfu, Grassfur watching Sapere, and both their heads turned to face forward at about the same time.

The first thing Maplepool saw was _green._

Vivid, dazzling green, ranging from healthy dark plants resting in the shade of trees to those that sprung upwards to the light with lively pride, dotted with other color here and there. There were orange and red poppies, tiny and perfectly-petaled white flowers with round yellow centers, star-shaped borage, gleaming blue juniper berries, strikingly yellow coltsfoot blossoms, tens and what must be hundreds or thousands of plants.

She noticed her jaw was agape when her mouth caught the overpowering scent of herbs, heady and intense but not horrible.

So this was a... garden, an herb garden. Of course— every wild cat needed herbs, didn't they? There was a distinct lack of injury-healing herbs like marigold, compared to a medicine cat's stores, suggesting that the forest was just as peaceful as it appeared.

Growing herbs and caring for them, as opposed to foraging, was not a new thing to Maplepool. All the Clans knew about ThunderClan's herb garden, one of their best Moon Tunnels gifts, with a variety of useful herbs to be gathered with ease.

The new thing was that this herb garden was _alive and blooming_ when it was _leaf-bare._

Flowers! Berries! Perfect leaves! Those were greenleaf things, weren't they? Definitely not normal plant behavior.

If she had any doubt about Sapere's titles, any thought that maybe the old cat was just an old cat, the sight of the garden chased them all away. There was _something_ magical about this, magic like certain gifts from the tunnels and the tunnels themselves, magic like that of WindClan's healing grounds, which brought fatally wounded cats back from the edge of death by aging their injuries.

The only question was Sapere's motive; was the magic going to help Maplepool and Grassfur or hurt them?

 _It makes sense, trading her help in return for ours, but she hasn't given us a task that's actually for herself yet._

 _Then again, this is only the second one._

Sapere was explaining the herbs she wanted them to gather and how to do it. Maplepool listened with one ear at first, preferring to muse on whether the old cat was trustworthy or not (yes was the general consensus she'd like to come to, no was what any other WindClan warrior would want her to think), but when she considered WindClan warriors, her line of thought went straight to their instructions, and listening, and paying attention, and she snapped her head up to focus fully on Sapere.

The orange-and-white tabby had said something about collecting poppy heads and laying them to dry, which Maplepool had done enough times when her apprentice tasks included helping Mossfur with medicine cat work. _How will they dry, in this wet, shady forest?_

"These ones," Sapere continued, holding up one of the little white flowers between two claws, "they are chamomile. Harvest only the flowers. Keep them in the shade; chamomile, it should not dry."

She padded over to a messy cluster of plants that was also blooming white, but these blossoms were long and almost like honeysuckle. The leaves had jagged edges that made Maplepool slightly wary. She'd never seen anything like it. Sapere prodded it with one paw, making it rustle cheerfully.

"Bitter-grass," identified the old cat, looking at a disgruntled Grassfur with an almost puckish smile, "its leaves are needed. Collect them with your paws and not your mouth... not just because of the taste. The leaves, they will dry with the poppy."

There was a warning in her voice as she slipped past the bitter-grass and towards a tall plant with sharp purple stalks. "Mugwort. Pick the highest leaves only, and keep them with the chamomile."

At that point, Maplepool's head was whirling as she worked to absorb all of the new information. _Bitter-grass and poppyheads need to dry; chamomile and mugwort don't. Take the highest leaves off of mugwort and don't touch bitter-grass with your mouth. Poppy. Chamomile. Bitter-grass. Mugwort._ She repeated the herb names like a mantra, moving her gaze to each one as she did.

"Gather as much as you can— the entire stock, if you so desire, but leave the lower mugwort leaves." Sapere receded, exiting the herb garden and moving to rest comfortably next to a pine tree.

Grassfur scowled. "You know, if you've nothing else to do than sit there and stare at us, you could maybe _help_."

"Oh, but I _am_ an old ragged cat," Sapere replied, looking somehow amused despite the russet tom's tone. "And I might remind you that _you_ should be doing _my_ tasks as well as your own."

 _I mean, these are technically your tasks. But I suppose they're for us._ Maplepool recalled the old she-cat saying something about these herbs being used in the ritual of dream-messaging before bringing them here. _Compromise— her task, in order for her to help us._

Grassfur grabbed a branching stem of chamomile at the edge of the garden and began plucking off the white flowers with teeth. Maplepool spared him half a glance before weaving carefully past a myriad of unknown herbs towards the bright poppy flowers.

As she got closer, she could see that they were in various stages of their life; the ones that she had seen were in bloom, but behind them were pods— some were soft and green, still young, but others were dry and rattled when she shook them, full of seeds for harvesting. A few had already dried so far that they'd cracked, their seeds evidently spilt.

Collecting them was a painless process, and Maplepool soon had a whole cluster laid to the side. She was surrounded by plants of every sort, brushing her fur, all around her. It was a comforting sensation, like being surrounded by WindClan's grass, but with soft, sun-warm leaves instead of dry stalks.

Wait— sun-warm? This was still leaf-bare, wasn't it?

Maplepool stared at the dappled light on the leaves and followed the trail of light to a sunny patch of ground beside Sapere.

 _That was_ not _there a moment ago._

She blinked slowly, decided not to question it, and picked up the poppy heads in her jaws, careful not to bite too hard crush them. Maplepool moved carefully around the plants, trying not to step on anything, and deposited her collection in the spot of sunlight. She glanced at Sapere, who nodded with a faintly approving air.

Even that little nod made Maplepool's heart do a funny little thing, where she felt incredibly proud of herself even when all she'd done was collect poppy pods. Sapere's approval, her general encouragement, had that effect.

 _She does a fine job._

After spending four days with only Grassfur for company, hearing someone say anything positive — _to_ Grassfur, no less— was so incredibly wonderful.

The last cat to compliment her was Hawkstar, who called her smart and said he believed in her and then sent her to an almost guaranteed death.

Before that?

 _I was just a normal, good WindClan apprentice. Nothing out of the ordinary. No praise, but no criticism, either._ The words felt shallow. _Does a WindClan warrior get praised for doing her job? No— so why should I ever get any? Expect any?_

Maplepool dipped her head to the old tabby she-cat and went to gather bitter-grass, recognizing it by its jagged leaves and tearing them off with as much carefulness as she could muster.

Once more, she looked to Grassfur, who was still adding to his admittedly small pile of chamomile. There were still dozens of white flowers to go, and he was plucking them carefully, one by one with his teeth. The mottled she-cat frowned, unconsciously moving one of her front paws as she imagined doing it herself.

 _I wouldn't pluck them like that, I'd..._ she made an upwards gesture with unsheathed claws. _Like that. Kind of... let the stems go between my claws and then pull up, so the flowers get caught and I end up with a pawful of them. It would be faster. It'd help._

Should she tell him? She hesitated, fiddling with a bitter-grass leaf.

 _For StarClan's sake, if I'm jumping up to do the bidding of a loner I've known for less than a day, I should help Grassfur. Clan cats stick together, Maplepool. You're a Clan cat._

But she didn't want to offend him (and a small part of her thought he deserved to struggle, a part that she tried to squash firmly).

She'd have to be careful about this.

Maplepool padded up until she was a respectful distance from the RiverClan cat, close enough to talk without shouting but far enough that she wouldn't annoy him. It didn't seem to work, though; his pelt was prickling. Perhaps she annoyed him from any distance, which... was plausible, considering that it was Grassfur.

"Grassfur?" she asked, tentatively, softly, as peaceably as she could.

At first it seemed as if he was intent on ignoring her; he continued to pluck flowers and toss them onto his pile a little more haphazardly than he had been prior to her speaking. Finally, the russet tom looked up to her with unfriendly gold eyes, mutinously silent.

"I was thinking that there... might be a better way to do that," Maplepool said, with emphasis on the _might_ , a sort of if-you-think-your-way's-better-then-yeah-sure-go-ahead. "Faster, I mean. If you maybe used your claws to get the flowers, like this." She moved closer, reached, demonstrated, and placed her newly acquired collection of chamomile on top of his, adding noticable bulk.

Those hawklike eyes blazed with some sort of fire she didn't understand, couldn't wrap her mind around. He seemed ready to lash out at her, and she tried not to flinch away, but his gaze fell somewhere slightly past her and he seemed to force his spiky fur to relax. Grassfur gave an indiscernable grunt and used his claws to collect the flowers the way she'd shown him, with far more force than necessary, working roughly and completely unlike the delicate precision he'd used just moments before.

Maplepool was confused. She felt something shifting in the atmosphere and couldn't name it, something distinctly rotten in the midst of all the sweet-smelling herbs, although it wasn't a real scent but more of a _feeling_. She thought she and Grassfur had come to some sort of a silent peace agreement, at least in the company of Sapere, but he seemed to be radiating his old dark fury now, directly at her.

Well. She'd done what she set out to do. Was it really her problem now?

 _He hates you. Sounds like my problem._

 _But also his problem._

 _Probably mostly his._

She bit down a coil of frustration, stamped down a sudden desire to whisk him aside and start demanding what exactly his problem was. That was a dangerous, dangerous game... and she didn't think she was brave enough to do it, either.

The rest of herb-gathering was uneventful; Grassfur soon finished his slipshod chamomile, stuffed it into a shady spot by a rock, and moved to gather mugwort, reaching high to get the leaves like he had been ordered. Maplepool continued to gather bitter-grass; Sapere had said that she could gather the whole thing, and there was a lot of the stuff. The herb had a pleasant aroma, making her wonder how bad the taste could really be— weren't all herbs bitter to some point? Still, Sapere's warning was apparently for reasons other than the implied bitterness, so she should probably heed it.

By the time they were finished and returning with jaws full of herbs, the sun was setting, spilling orange and deep golden through the forest. Maplepool's head was ducked awkwardly as she held the bitter-grass against her neck with her chin, and she was relieved when they finally reached the cave.

All four herbs were then stashed into a general area of Sapere's den. Then the old cat bade them to rest, with a slightly ominous comment that "tomorrow, there is much to be done."

Sleep did not come easily, not in the nest of moss that stirred a maelstrom of feelings that Maplepool tried so hard to force away.

...

She slept lightly, falling in and out of consciousness, waking up before she'd sunken deeply into sleep but finding her way back into it for even a shorter amount of time until the cycle restarted.

Eventually, after maybe the fourth or fifth time she woke up, Maplepool gave up on sleeping entirely and got to her feet, hating the way she loved the feeling of springy moss beneath her paws. It was almost completely dark inside the cave; moonlight wasn't strong enough to find its ways through the cracks in the stone. The only light came from the entrance, drawing the mottled she-cat towards it like a moth.

 _Remember what happened last time —just yesterday— you decided to go off for a midnight stroll._

Last time, though, it was the fog that had caused everything. And Sapere said the fog brought lost cats to her... if they were there, now, with the old tabby, then it shouldn't be an issue anymore—

 _Wait. Where_ is _Sapere?_

As her eyes adjusted to the extremely low light, the fawn-and-ginger cat was able to find the shape of Grassfur, tucked far away from her into his nest of reeds that was whisker-straight and sharp even when she could barely see it. Sapere's was a weaving of sticks and dried brush that Maplepool thought looked slightly akin to a bird's nest the first time she saw it. Currently, it was empty, with no discernable form akin to a cat.

Curiosity got the better of Maplepool and she padded warily out of the cave, ears pricked, watching eerie shadows dance across the dark brown earth that lightened to a warm grayish hue. The she-cat glanced up at the sky to check the time; from the position of the waning moon, she could tell that it was a bit past midnight. The stars glittered distantly in the dark blue above. She turned her gaze to look straight forward and the scenery stole her breath away.

At night, the river shone.

Cold blues and deep nighttime greens sparkled across it, the reflection of the sky and trees, dotted with little bursts of yellow lights that weere fireflies in the reeds. The water was lucid, alive, glittering as soft wavelets lapped at the shore. The moonlight caught on its ripples, ever changing, making it look like an animate creature. But it wasn't the ravenous, grasping monster from Maplepool's nightmares; it was serenely asleep and moving with the rise and fall of its back, huge and graceful at the same time. A friend.

And she could almost see how the river could be a friend.

A cat stood in the water, her legs wholly submerged along with the lower half of its body. Sapere, she must be Sapere. She was white and orange, but here under the moonlight the orange patches on her fur shone like fire, blazing with a vigor unlike the eccentric personality of the tattered-pelt cat Maplepool knew.

The cat turned to her, expectant, and then yes— those sharp hazel eyes were Sapere, only now they had a pelt to match.

Maplepool scrambled towards the river, standing a safe distance away from the water, although mud squelched beneath her paws. The other she-cat moved gracefully through the river to meet her, rivulets of liquid slipping down her wet, slick fur.

"Sleep, it did not arrive?" the elder asked serenely, head tilted.

"It did, but... briefly," answered the fawn-and-ginger cat.

"A common thing, when sleeping in new territories." Sapere hummed and scooped up river-water with her front paws, moving with surprising speed so that the water dripped down onto a nearby rock. Maplepool stretched her head forward a little to peer at the stone; the side of it facing her was rough, but she saw the glimmer of reflected moonlight from the other river-smoothed end. On top of the rock was a shallow dip that collected water like a little pool; inside it were herbs that she recognized as chamomile and possibly mugwort.

"Preparations," Sapere explained. "Come closer, if you please."

She _did_ want to, but the rock was so close to the river...

 _I'm fine patrolling by the_ gorge _, aren't I?_

 _But not so close..._

 _Sapere is_ in _the river and she's fine..._

A few cautious hops and bounds later, Maplepool stood right behind the rock, as if it were a shield between her and the flowing body of water. Up close, she could tell that the other green herb was indeed mugwort.

"Can I ask... what exactly are you doing?" she meowed tentatively as Sapere splashed her paws into the river and scooped another two dripping paws full of water to the depression in the rock. It was not the neatest process —plenty of water was lost, returning to the river before it made it to the rock— but Maplepool couldn't come up with anything better, so she was no one to criticize.

"The water of the river, it is being transferred to the basin," the old cat informed her, "and the herbs will steep. The tea, it is to be drunk tomorrow night, for the messaging of dreams."

Maplepool only slightly followed the terminology, but she got the gist of it and nodded politely. "Thank you for doing this." _In the middle of the night._

Sapere shrugged idly. "You will be doing more work than I."

 _Like... what, exactly?_ Maplepool wondered, struggling to find the best way to phrase that out loud and settling on "So, what work will we be doing tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow— I must learn about your Cloudtuft," the old cat said, looking thoughtful. She scooped up another pawful of water. "So that it would be as if I knew him myself."

"You should probably ask Grassfur about that." Maplepool shifted her paws. "They're brothers. I don't know him... too well." A few faded conversations over the course of two nights was all she remembered, comfortable small talk, the faint memory of a funny, laidback white tom.

"He will be asked. You, as well." Sapere studied Maplepool, who felt slightly discomforted under her scrutiny. "Rarely do I see so few questions from a cat."

 _Who, me?_ She had learned long ago that she wouldn't get answers to any of her questions; things like _why is this sky blue?_ or _who came up with that tradition?_ were scorned. Sapere's eccentricies and magic were just one of the many mysteries of life that the WindClan cat had learned she shouldn't bother wondering about.

"I do have questions," she said carefully, "just... I thought they might be rude." That was partly true. It wasn't good to be nosy.

Sapere snorted and Maplepool realized that was probably a hare-brained thing to say to the cat who had put up with Grassfur's insults for a day now. "All questions, they are good," the old tabby informed her. "I would be more concerned if you had none."

That... was the opposite of everything Maplepool had been told her whole life.

"Well," she said, flipping through her thoughts because if she was being invited to ask questions, she had _so many_ and no clue where to begin. Which parts could she skip over and let her brain fill in the gaps? What was the most important?

But the words that spilled out of her mouth next surprised even herself. "Why do you let Grassfur treat you like that?"

 _Wait, what?_

Sapere did not look surprised —really, Maplepool suspected nothing could startle her— but she cocked her head with a small _oh?_ sort of smile, making the mottled she-cat feel hot despite the cool leaf-bare air. "Treat me how, exactly?"

"...Rudely," Maplepool managed weakly.

"If it is rude, the way he treats me, then I am the same, am I not?" Sapere waved her tail in her idle way, dismissing the question. "Maplepool, it is merely persiflage. A show of bravado on his part. The better question, it would be: why do _you_?"

Maplepool opened and closed her mouth, staring into intense hazel eyes. She wasn't entirely sure what "persiflage" meant, besides the implication of _not rude_ , and she didn't see how insults could have anything to do with bravado.

Somehow, she hadn't quite made the connection between Grassfur being ill-mannered to her versus to Sapere until now.

 _Why do I let him, if I think_ she _shouldn't?_

Oh, that question, it had so many answers, layers and layers of answers flashing through her mind, some true, some lies or half-lies to keep the truth concealed.

 _Because you're an elder and you deserve respect but I'm just his equal. Because I don't have the right. Because what can I do except take it if I want to be this cat that I am? Because that's not what a good cat would do— but I would still think you were a good cat if you did it so it's confusing, confusing, confusing. Because he's trying to break me, he doesn't realize he is but he's pushing me to snap and I can't. Because this is a test and I will not fail._

And none of those answers fit quite right, like she was trying to wear pelts that weren't her own, so Maplepool found herself unable fo speak.

Sapere gazed at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps," the old cat said quietly, more to herself at first, "the fog, it was wrong, this once. Perhaps you are more lost."

The WindClan cat's automatic response was "I thought we were both the same amount of lost— we've got the same destination," but she _did_ feel very lost at the moment. Lost and uncomfortable; this whole conversation was poking in places that should not be disturbed.

"An easier question, perhaps?" Sapere suggested, and when Maplepool nooded, she went on. "Hardly are you and Grassfur friends, and yet together you ended up here. Your story, it would be good to know."

That _was_ slighty easier, and she was so relieved to have something on the surface to discuss that she didn't think twice about sharing their story— the important bits, anyway.

She told Sapere about the four Clans, their communal way of life that must be strange to a loner, basic hierarchy: leader, deputy, medicine cat, warrior, apprentice, queen and kit. That she was a WindClanner, Grassfur and his brother from RiverClan.

About the Moon Tunnels, the journey that all apprentices went on as a rite of passage once they were of age, the journey that they'd been on with Cloudtuft and two others before the blizzard came and separated them.

And because the old orange-and-white cat was patient, and silent, she added a few details. How Grassfur and Cloudtuft were a moon older, a cat named Flamepaw a moon younger, but they all ended up lumped together anyway. And because she said that, she had to explain why they had so few kits, which meant she ended up spiraling into the entire story of the tunnels and how no cat had returned in six seasons and the Clans were dying. And because she had to explain why she and Grassfur were lost, she switched back to their story, about being swept by the blizzard and river.

The whole time, it was quiet, the only sound being the faint chirping of crickets, a breeze rustling the reeds, water sloshing and splashing against the banks. Talking was almost freeing, spilling words a liberation, even if these words were being told to a stranger.

"Twelve moons," Sapere said when Maplepool had no more to say. "That is young, to be so far from home." The mottled she-cat held her breath, hoping that there wouldn't be any probing questions like _how do_ you _feel about it_ (she recalled that she and Cloudtuft shared mutual discomfort about these questions).

But before the other cat could say anything, if she was going to say something at all, a particularly spirited wavelet from the river splashed past the rock to Maplepool's paws.

Somehow, she did not jump back, instead freezing and staring at her now wet front feet, trying to _act normal act normal be normal_ despite the icy spikes running down her spine that weren't from the cold water.

Sapere noticed; Sapere knew, Maplepool suspected, but she only showed her reaction in the twitch of one ear. "The river, it has invited you."

 _No thanks, I don't want to be invited by any river,_ Maplepool thought. "I... can't swim," she offered as an excuse.

"Twice now has this river brought you to safety."

 _There's some difference between being in a river unconscious and walking purposefully into it._

"I know you fear the river, and I do not doubt that you have good reason to. But these waters are not those that wronged you."

 _Oh, you don't know the half of it._

"At sunrise," Sapere said softly, "your first task will require being in the river. Will you let Grassfur do it alone?"

The fawn-and-ginger she-cat squinted at the loner. Was that some sort of a trick? Playing on her I-should-be-a-good-cat-and-help mentality? How would Sapere be able to read that far into her the first place? She took the question at face value and discovered that the answer was no, she would hate to stand by while Grassfur did the all work, even if he deserved it, even if he didn't want her help. Even if it was the river...? The answer was the same. _Because that's the cat I am and want to be._

She took a deep, shuddering breath, looking at her paws, then to the river, then Sapere's expectant gaze, answering but not just answering the question spoken out loud.

"I'll do it."

Slowly, Maplepool padded out from behind the rock, staring at the glimmering river. One pawstep and another until she was a mouselength away, then a whisker. Her paw tapped cold water and she jerked it back on instinct before trying again. When she placed her paw on top of the water without forcing it down, it floated, and the river tried to carry it downstream. Her heart pounded wildly— _am I really doing this— why am I— I'm insane—_

One paw underwater, then two, both shaking as she unsheathed her claws to sink them into the muddy riverbed.

The river called and she didn't stop to think before she dashed into it, breaking through the surface, making the hollow gulping sound she'd heard so many times when a RiverClan cat dived in their stream back home. Then all four feet and legs were in the shallowest part at the very edge, feeling the current tug slightly at the short fur on her limbs, feeling mud squelch beneath her pawpads and between her claws. It was _cold_ , cold cold cold cold, and yet she didn't want to leave because she felt heavy and the water was pulling, pulling, weighing her down.

Sapere backed away from the shore and inwards, closer to the center of the river, where the water went up to her shoulder. Maplepool waded a few tentative steps closer. Once waves began lapping at her belly fur, it was easier to go deeper, as if she'd crossed a line and broken it forever.

Water to her flanks. Water over her back, a thin layer of it. Water pushing and pulling and pushing and pulling. The water embraced her and Maplepool shivered; it was freezing discomfort and cozy at the same time, the feeling of _something_ surrounding her that was denser than air, a pelt of water.

Then all of her doubts and fears and worries and nightmares and memories slipped away into the background and she was in the here and now, in this river that wouldn't drown her with a cat who wouldn't fall or let her fall.

The knots tied in her chest that she hadn't known were there started to let go.

She turned to Sapere and saw a surprisingly gentle smile on the old she-cat's face. She was pretty sure that one was forming on her own features.

"Comfortable?" the elder asked.

"Yes," she said as she realized that she was. The water was still cold, but she was quickly growing used to it, feeling warmer inside than she had in a long time.

"There are some hours before sunrise," Sapere said. There was no order, no instruction, not even a suggestion on what to do in those hours, just the comment of _there are some hours before sunrise_ and that was all.

"What are you having us do in the river?"

"Catch fish."

Maplepool winced. Even if she was in the river right now, she certainly wouldn't be able to swim or fish by then. She wasn't even sure if she'd be able to work up the guts to return to the river again (it helped that Sapere was there, this time). "Could you...?" she said, not entirely sure what she was asking.

"Fish, they will come to you, if you stay still."

So she stayed still, hardly daring to breathe.

"Relax— more of a _don't move_ than _stay still_ ," Sapere mused mildly.

 _Stay still_ and _don't move_ were the same thing, but Maplepool found that the second did, in fact, help her relax. It was an effort to keep her whiskers still, but she wasn't moving them, either. Heartbeats pulsed by in comfortable silence. Maplepool was hyper-aware of every water-sound the river made, every little nudge from the current, when—

"Oh!"

A fish had slipped by her leg, scales cool and smooth. She twisted her head around to peer after the rapidly disappearing shape.

"Keep one paw at the ready," Sapere advised.

She did. The next fish was faster to come, but her paw didn't even touch it as she brought it down moments too late.

"Aim for where it's headed, not where it is."

It went on as such, Maplepool trying every time she spotted a fish only to miss it from this mistake or that, Sapere offering one piece of advice in short snippets. Briefly, as she missed what must have been the fifth fish ("Don't let your shadow hang over it!") the mottled she-cat wondered why she couldn't get all of this information at once.

But it was easier to remember to hook her paw when she remembered how a slippery silver fish had slipped out from underneath when she tried smashing down; easier to remember to strike confidently when hesitation had lost her a large, greenish-gray one. The instructions paired with the memories of failure made for something indelible.

Until, finally, there was a fish that she struck at just the right angle at just the right speed in the just right spot, hooking it out with so much force that it burst through the river's surface and splashed onto the muddy riverbank.

"Bite its spine with your teeth!"

Maplepool raced through the river as quickly as she could —not very quickly at all, she discovered— and stared at the fish, which thrashed violently in a patch of reeds.

"Or crush its head with your paw, if you can't grab it."

She did. Several frantic moments later, a freshly-killed fish laid before her. Maplepool studied it, all slippery skin and smashed head, yellow with black stripes and a slightly greenish tint.

 _I caught a fish._

 _I_ went in a river _and_ caught a fish _!_

Wide-eyed, she looked to Sapere, who waded out of the river. Water fell smoothly away from the old she-cat's fur. Maplepool's own pelt felt incredibly heavy once she'd left the river, as if several stones' worth in weight of water had soaked into it, and she wss pretty sure she was dripping like a drowned rat. She shivered slightly.

"A job well done, brave one."

Maplepool hesitated before responding, thoughts spinning around like a windstorm in her mind. She _did_ feel brave, emboldened, powerful, like she could do anything now that she'd done this. Like she could stand tall, face anything, stop keeping her head ducked, confront Grassfur... _Oh, what a dangerous path I'm falling down._

She nudged the fish towards Sapere— an offering. "You should have it."

Sapere's expression was unreadable as she glanced from the fish to Maplepool and back. "The prey, it is your catch."

"But you taught me how." Maplepool tilted her head to the elder. "It's a gift." Sapere must eat fish; that was how her pelt, like those of RiverClan, didn't retain water.

"Thank you."

 _And sharing food is the Clan way._

Sapere did not eat the fish immediately, but picked it up and beckoned for Maplepool to follow her back to the cave. Assuming that it would be stored for, she followed. Although the mottled she-cat hadn't slept much, she didn't feel particularly tired, even when the first pale rays of light were beginning to appear in a _tonight is officially tomorrow morning now_ way. The water had been refreshing, awakening.

They walked down the tunnel-that-wasn't-really-long-enough-to-be-a-tunnel, through the lichen, and into the cave. Sapere placed the fish in one of the stone walls' nooks and stopped short before moving away, frozen.

"What—?" Maplepool padded up to her side.

She was looking at Grassfur, who slept on.

His russet pelt was stiff, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he dreamed, his limbs outstretched as if he were running, but he didn't move a whisker. Maplepool felt that familiar faint heat coming from his body and looked to Sapere with slight confusion.

"Does he always sleep in this way?"

"I think so?" She hadn't paid much attention to it. "Is... is everything okay?"

Sapere closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she looked quite tired, and her words were surprisingly normal. "Nothing for you to worry about, Maplepool. Groom yourself— get some rest— once he awakens, the next task will begin."

Maplepool dipped her head and backed away. As she receded, she heard the old cat murmur quietly to herself.

"More than one cat's dreams may be visited this night, it seems."


	25. Denial

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

To say Grassfur was bemused was an extreme understatement.

"You want me to catch Cloudtuft's favorite food," he checked.

"That is what I said," Sapere informed him.

"Then you're going to take the prey and... do what now?"

The orange-and-white tabby swished her long tail across the cave floor, disturbing the leaf litter below. She repeated what she'd already told him a few minutes ago, although in slightly different words. "The prey, its scent will call the dream-spirit of Cloudtuft to me, so that I may communicate with him tonight."

Grassfur was about to glance at Maplepool in a sort of _and what do_ you _think of this?_ way, before remembering at the last moment that he hated her and she was annoying and she'd annoyed him just yesterday, a freshly dark splotch on his otherwise mellow memory of herb-gathering. The russet tom kept his eyes firmly on Sapere.

"You know what, I'm not even going to argue with that," he meowed. _Or overthink it._ If he tried to think at all about this insane situation beyond _we're having an old cat chat with my brother, through a dream, so we can find each other after being separated by a blizzard and a weird river_ , he'd get his mind tied into knots. Either he was going to go with it, or he wasn't. And he'd made his choice yesterday, cemented when he'd seen the notably unnerving magical herb garden that afternoon.

"Good. You should work quickly. After, I will speak to you each, alone."

On that concerning note, Sapere waved them off with her tail. Grassfur turned to leave, paused, then turned back.

"Cloudtuft's favorite fish is salmon," he said, remembering. "They only show up in leaf-fall." Which was, coincidentally, why it was the white tom's favorite. RiverClan celebrated the salmon run as they feasted on the sudden influx of fish, and Cloudtuft had enjoyed it a little too much, in Grassfur's opinion.

The old cat offered him a roguish grin. "Not with this river."

 _As if._ "I'll just catch a trout," he tossed over his shoulder as he exited the cave, this time not turning. "An old ragged cat couldn't tell the difference."

"Oh, but a dream-spirit can."

Grassfur had never been one for small talk or banter —that was Cloudtuft's thing, and he didn't see the point of it— but for some reason, he'd be happy to keep talking with Sapere about nothing forever. Exchanging words with her made him feel feather-light, at peace, carefree like a clear greenleaf sky...

But a stormcloud kept hanging in that picturesque scene, a fawn-and-ginger smudge of imperfection that went by the name of Maplepool.

She followed him silently; he sped up, annoyed and not bothering to think about why he was annoyed besides the plain fact that _she was annoying._ The WindClan cat was making him use the word _annoy_ so much that the word itself was starting to get on his nerves.

Tonight. Sapere said the dream-messaging would happen tonight. He could ignore her until then.

And if she was lying, like Grassfur _should_ suspect but didn't anymore, he could just leave. It was Maplepool's decision to stay here in the first place. He could blame her.

He gritted his teeth and walked to the river.

Today was another one of those days that was nothing like leaf-bare; the forest was lively and the river sparkled cheerfully. Catching a fish shouldn't be an issue; the bigger problem was the whole salmon thing. Grassfur was still vaguely skeptical about... everything, really, but if Sapere was just doing this for herself, why would she be so specific?

 _To trick you, of course, and she's done a fine job of that._

 _We've been through this. I decided to trust her._ Although, come to think of it, he was possibly being the biggest fish-brain in the world.

Grassfur chose to entirely disregard Maplepool as he slipped into the water. It wasn't like she'd be any use; she acted like a flighty sparrow around water, and obviously she didn't know how to fish. The only thing the mottled she-cat would be here was an aggravation, and he had no time for those.

The mud beneath his paws was thick and held his weight, while the current was soft and barely nudged at him. A barely discernable change in temperature as he entered the river, there for only a flash, told him that the water was on the warm side.

Although he preferred to catch fish from the banks as opposed to actually swimming, this river —at least, this section of it— was wide and shallow, so he'd have to work with actually being in the water. In any case, Grassfur didn't care either way; though the elders in RiverClan had warned that not every river was safe, this one seemed fine enough.

He focused upstream.

 _If I trust Sapere enough to be doing this, I should trust that there are salmon in the river._ That logic seemed very much like something his littermate would say.

 _But there's no such thing. The salmon just pass through in leaf-fall._

 _...In our section of the river._

The russet tom hated all this _doubt_. Why couldn't he just pick something and go with it, all the way through, without second-guessing anything?

A shadowy underwater movement of glimmering green scales— Grassfur studied it, then turned his head as he saw a flash of its yellow underbelly. _Bluegill. Cloudtuft doesn't like those._

"Grassfur?"

He stiffened as he heard Maplepool's soft voice, then set his jaw and fixed his gaze on the river in front of him with such intensity that he was surprised he didn't burn the water dry. _Ignore her. Ignore her. Ignore her._ With each breath, he took in the belief that he hated her, he hated her, so that it once he repeated it enough it would turn him to stone and he wouldn't falter.

 _Why?_ asked that insistent voice in his head, and he didn't _know_ , he just _did_ , led blindly by his heart. Everything about her lit a fire within him, not the good light-bringing sort of flame that resided in the stars or the sun or fireflies, but the roaring wildfire that consumed everything in its path. Mindless agony, burning destruction, gouging out his insides until he wanted to do the same to her, to tear and claw and scream and snap.

The voice told him it was irrational, but the voice was a whisper while _it_ was there and it was real and it was the only here and now he felt, the anger.

"Grassfur," Maplepool repeated cautiously.

 _The way she said his name._ He couldn't handle it. Sometimes it was like this, when she spoke, where he wanted to wrap his claws around her tongue so she never spoke again.

And yet, there was that one time— days ago, before the fog... where it had given him pause.

Grassfur wasn't entirely sure where Maplepool actually _was_ ; even his peripheral vision couldn't see her, and she wasn't moving (thank StarClan; he thought he might really snap if he had to hear her paws thumping just _one more time_ ). From her mew, he could tell that she wanted to say something else. A question, perhaps? Well, he wasn't answering any question of hers, he thought with a flicker of empty satisfaction.

If she was trying to ask him something, or just _say_ something to him in general, why not get out with it? Why just say the "Grassfur" twice and then clam up like she was mute? He had two working ears, didn't he? The whole thing helped to bolster the idea that Maplepool made bad decisions and never did anything right and he was perfectly justified in disliking her.

 _Or you're being nitpicky and_ finding _justification,_ pointed out that small, very Cloudtufty, very annoying voice in his mind. He ignored it.

"Are you ignoring me?" Her voice sounded strained. The four words echoed in Grassfur's head and grated on his last nerves. Oh, he was so tempted to snap back a remark that showed how incredibly stupid that question was; something like "What else could I be doing, sleeping?" but that would annihilate the entire fact that he was, in fact, ignoring her in the first place.

He lashed out at a flash of silver just below the water and missed it narrowly. _Frog-dung!_ The fish slipped past him in a hurry. _That wasn't a salmon, but it would work._

Maplepool had fallen silent at last. Grassfur exhaled slowly, calming the raging storm in his mind, trying to just think of catching a fish and nothing else now that she wouldn't bother him anymore.

The russet tom barely finished that thought before _splash, splash,_ Maplepool was in the river—

Maplepool was _what—?_

He stared at her, uncomprehending, for slightly too long before gathering himself and twisting his features back into the dark glare she deserved. Grassfur forced every last bit of surprise out of himself even though his head was running in a frenzied line of thought: _she just up and jumped into the river, she's a WindClan cat, what if she drowns, don't be stupid it's too shallow for drowning and why would you care anyway, she just_ jumped _into the_ river, _how and why, I thought she was terrified of it, it was the one way I was able to keep her away from me when we were going upstream...!_

There was some sort of expression carved into the lines of her face and the blaze of her amber eyes (a blaze? What was up with that? She didn't spark, she was the dullest, had always been the dullest) that Grassfur couldn't name, something between fear and defiance and a should-I-have-done-this uncertainty all at once.

"What's up with you?" she demanded, and it was so unlike Maplepool to _demand_ anything that he was startled into meowing a "what?"

The fawn-and-ginger she-cat seemed to recoil slightly, drawing back as if she was having some second thoughts. "Ever since the herb gathering, something's been off. I thought we'd reached a— an understanding."

Grassfur scoffed. "What understanding?" He shoved as much disdain into his voice as possible. _I could never understand you._

"I felt it, yesterday," she tried. "We were... peaceful, up until I tried to _help_ you with the chamomile."

Oh, yes— that. Had his mood shift been so obvious? He'd been trying to hide it, because Sapere was there and watching and he'd felt the strangest wave of shame envelop him as he considered snapping at Maplepool in front of the old cat.

"So you want to know my _problem,_ do you?" he spat. "Yeah, you and everyone else. Took you that long to work up the courage and you _still_ can't just ask me straight out. _That's_ the problem, and that's _your_ problem!" Words were bubbling out of him, dark and oozing and venomous, as he struggled to put his own thoughts together.

Her trying to be careful around him— that _was_ a part of it, and certainly the part that had set him of yesterday, but it felt like just a single leaf in a branching tree of hatred he couldn't fully figure out. Almost _every_ cat tiptoed around him except Sweetleaf, but he hadn't loathed any of them with such vehemence.

But it was the only thing he had, so he clung to it, speaking on while Maplepool seemed to struggle with silent indignance and bewilderment.

Yesterday, he'd held back because Sapere was watching and for some inexplicable reason, he hadn't wanted to lash out in front of her.

But the old cat wasn't out here this time.

"Trying to tiptoe around me like I'm made of eggshells! Trying to coddle me or treat me like I'm a kit who can't handle a whiskerlength's fall! I hate it! I hate you and I've shown that a thousand times over, but you just take it like you're soil to be walked on— you don't stand up for yourself, you don't— you don't— stop _trying_ so hard in all the wrong ways!"

He stopped talking. His words seemed to strike something in her, and she seemed to shake for a moment, breathing hard, before finally responding in a way that was completely subpar to the intense current of emotions running between them.

"I'm only trying not to offend you."

"I don't _want_ it! I don't want to be treated like I'm about to explode! I don't get offended at every single thing!" The conversation was swerving now, veering away from the original issue of _what's up with you?_ and he detested that he was almot grateful for it because he didn't have a clue about that.

Maplepool growled softly and ducked her head, not an expression of deference, but a quietly smoldering anger. "If you don't want to be treated that way, don't _act_ like you're about to explode! You're being offended by _me trying to not offend you!_ "

This was getting really out of hand. Grassfur wasn't entirely sure he was following everything anymore— perhaps a side effect of them using the word _offend_ way too many times.

"I'm only 'offended' because you're the one acting," he retorted heatedly, swishing his tail through the water and sinking unsheathed claws into the muddy river bottom. "Acting like I _am._ Acting nice and careful all the time."

"I'm not acting!" She appeared personally affronted by this, but her voice didn't match his in volume at all. "It's called _being_ nice. I'd especially have to be careful around you, since you're getting worked up over _normal manners_." Maplepool clamped her muzzle stiffly, as if biting back more words.

"Why would you be nice to me?" Grassfur's words were sharp. He didn't notice her flinch, already barreling on. "You obviously don't like me either; you're _faking_ it, and it's only annoying when you do!"

"That's a whole different hornets' nest. Cats expect you to civil —at the very least— to everyone, no matter how you feel personally." The WindClan cat's tone was almost dismissive as she said the words, stiff and sharp, as if she were reciting something that had been told to her time and time again. Her eyes followed a butterfly as it fluttered past them, soaring on the light breeze. Grassfur suddenly felt tired, as if he'd been drained of words as well as anger, and lowered his hackles.

"Well, I don't. So just... stop."

Their confrontation had been intense but brief, escalating only to drop back down. Maplepool looked simply confused, entirely uncomprehending of the idea that Grassfur didn't expect or want her to play meaningless games around him.

"Fine. If that's what you want."

"Enough about what _I want_ already!" he nearly shouted. "What do _you_ want?"

Now she was _completely_ confused, her mystification showing in the uneasy twitch of her ears. She stared at him for a moment that stretched into forever, then turned away from him and lashed out at the river with unsheathed claws. Grassfur ducked away from the splash in reflex and stared at the fish that had just barely escaped her paws.

Speckled back, pink-tinted underbelly— that was a _salmon._ Undeniably, definitely a salmon.

 _Great StarClan. Sapere is right._

Grassfur preferred brooding over this mystery as opposed to the hot mess and impulsive words that had been his interaction with Maplepool.

 _That old cat is a witch. Herbs growing in the middle of leaf-bare— a river that has salmon— ostensible magic and dreams— let's not even talk about the fog._

His thoughts slowly, grudgingly circled back to Maplepool, mostly because she was still in front of him. The russet tom considered snapping at her to get out of the way so he could catch a fish, but found that he didn't have the desire to. Instead, he sidestepped, moving around her and a few pawsteps further upstream.

He dipped his head into the water to clear it and emerged with a splash, ready to focus on the task and nothing else. Catch a salmon first, sort out complicated things later, or not at all.

The RiverClan cat waited for so long that he was starting to think he might have misidentified some other fish as a salmon when finally, another swam past. He lunged, quick as a snake, and caught the salmon in his teeth. Grassfur bit down on the thrashing fish's spine. Warm blood flooded his jaws.

Maplepool had left the river some time ago; he didn't know where, and he didn't particularly care. He felt calmer, lighter, without her presence. Triumphant, Grassfur carried his catch back to the cave, where both she-cats were waiting.

"Good," Sapere said simply. She rose gracefully to her paws and stretched, nodding to Maplepool before padding towards Grassfur. "Walk with me."

This was probably the "I will speak to you each" that she'd mentioned earlier. Had she already done that with Maplepool, while Grassfur had been fishing? He felt a vague sense of unfounded irritation at the thought.

Both cats padded past the lichen and back out into the sunlight, the russet tom following the orange-and-white she-cat obediently. There was no reason to be difficult. Grassfur noted that Sapere's gait was slightly shaky, her pelt tattered in places, her whiskers and muzzle greyed; she was possibly older than the oldest elder in all the four Clans. The regal way she held herself, the general way she acted, was almost enough to make him forget.

If someone had told past Grassfur that he'd run into an old she-cat after being pummeled and tossed by a river, he would spend his every waking moment waiting in deep dread for that day. His only experiences with old she-cats were RiverClan's elders, and they were the worst. If he'd woken up to one of _them_ finding him and Maplepool by the river, he could all too well imagine how that would pan out:

 _"Oh, sweetie-berry, are you all right? Come to my den, honey-sugar-kitten, dry yourself up and have a nice nap!"_

An annoyed remark from his end.

The resulting shock masked by an indulging smile.

Further difficulties from him, because he detested those fake saccharine smiles.

The smile strained, nearly bursting at its seams.

They played some kind of game he wanted no part of, a figure-out-the-nice-thing-to-say and I-bet-I-can-shove-the-most-politeness-down-my-own-throat instead of just... saying what they wanted to say.

Not Sapere. He'd called her an old ragged cat several times over and the grin she was giving him right now was real and wonderful.

"Look, Grass," she said, swinging her head across the entire view. "The sun, it shines through clouds— separation. An omen that our parting is near."

He should feel happy about that. Relieved, even. Perhaps he should make a snarky comment about exactly how happy he'd be —or thought he should be— about that.

He did not.

"My name's Grass _fur_ ," he ended up saying.

"Is a name without permanence a proper name?" the old she-cat mused. As Grassfur blinked, trying to comprehend, she continued. "Our cultures, they are quite different, or so appears. A sign of how wide this world truly spans."

"What do you know about my _culture_?" the russet tom asked, echoing the word with slight emphasis.

"Your customs, hierachy, the Moon Tunnels. Maplepool told me of the Clans from which you came and the journey you are on." Sapere, Grassfur noticed, called _Maplepool_ by her full name. He suspected that she was calling him "Grass" to bother him, not because she had any actual problem with a Clan cat's changing suffixes.

Then he felt angry, because _how dare she_ blurt out all information about them to a complete stranger? Did she have no sense at all?

"She told you _everything?_ " he asked, unable and perhaps unwilling to keep the harsh bite out of his voice.

"Well, it is hard to know what it is you don't know," Sapere said in her calmy unbothered way. She came to a halt by the edge of the river, a little further downstream than Grassfur had ever been. Her dingy pelt was shaded by the branches of a pine tree. The russet tom went to join her and sat down as she did, feeling the soft brush of air as a breeze blew past.

Then the orange-and-white cat pierced him with hazel eyes. If looks could kill, he'd be dead; not because of any menace (there was none), but because he felt like he was being flayed open and she could see everything inside him.

"Do you anger because the information was shared, or because it was Maplepool who shared it?"

That was far too observant for Grassfur's comfort. _Don't think about it,_ he told himself, _don't answer that question, even in your head—_ but that traitorous little voice in his mind grabbed Sapere's words and ran with it, gleefully.

 _There's no harm in telling even a stranger something like that. It's not like it's a secret._

 _Shut up._

 _You know you'd do it if Sapere asked_ you _._

 _I wouldn't. And if I did, I'd_ think _about it before spewing everything out._

 _How do you know that she didn't?_

He uttered a soft, wordless growl and chose pointedly not to say anything out loud. Sapere seemed unperturbed by this, cheerfully disregarding the unanswered question and going on.

"Let us move to the original intention of this conversation."

"Oh, yes, let's." His voice was rougher than it really needed to be.

"Tell me about Cloudtuft."

Grassfur wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting, but that certainly wasn't it. He responded with his first reaction— "Why?"

"The messaging of dreams requires it."

"That's a vague response. Not sure if I trust it."

"It was purposefully so."

The russet tom eyed the tabby with skepticism. "You know what, fine. It's not like it changes anything. He's my brother. White tom. Blue eyes like the sky. Really fluffy; bigger than me, slightly." Sapere had a certain way of looking completely unsurprised at anything, and Grassfur couldn't tell whether she was aware of any of this information or not. Knowing her, and Maplepool's apparent tendency to oversharing, he thought she might already know.

"You and I both know that's not what I'm looking for."

Did he? He did, maybe, somewhere, slightly. "He's annoying at times," he tried.

"Littermates, they do get in each others' pelts at times, do they not?"

"Sure." Grassfur paused. He had never been away from his brother for longer than a few hours, in RiverClan, but how long was it now...? Five days? Almost a quarter moon. "He's... logical, definitely. Cloudtuft likes to think about things, and then overthink them. Honestly, he's a bigger skeptic than I am."

There was a beat of silence. Then he added thoughtfully, "You know, even if you are telling the truth and you visit him tonight, I don't think he'd actually listen to you. He might pass it off as— as the inexplicable whims of his subconscious, or something, after he wakes up."

For once, Sapere actually looked alarmed.

"That! Neither of you thought to perhaps lead with that?" She stood up, looking into the evergreen forest. "Perhaps I may message the other two as well... bolster his beliefs." More to herself, she started muttering plans, something about probably havig enough herbs but needing to catch more prey.

 _The other two— oh, Maplepool told her about them, too._ Grassfur grimaced. At this point, he should probably just treat Sapere like she knew everything he did unless she asked for clarification.

"In any case, go on," Sapere urged, settling back down and wrapping her long tail around her paws.

"He likes to act like nothing bothers him," Grassfur said at once; he'd been puzzling over his slightly eccentric brother while waiting for the old cat, and now he was spilling all those thoughts out loud. "Like the tunnels. He talks about it like it's no big deal, walking to our deaths, okay, that's fine." The russet tom thought he might be rambling at this point, but pressed on. "He's carefree, in the sense that he doesn't care. You don't really notice it— from a distance he just looks... friendly, I guess."

"Friendliness, it was mentioned by Maplepool." Sapere tilted her head.

 _Was it?_ Grassfur was too distracted by figuring out his brother to feel indignant about that (she didn't have the _right_ to say a thing about him whether it was good or bad, how could she be so entitled, she'd only known him for a day).

"Friendly, sure. He hit it off real well with cats at Gatherings." _From what I know._ Grassfur hadn't paid much attention to his brother back then. "But he..." he hesitated. "He doesn't have anyone he's really close to." _Though, to be fair, the pickings were slim if you discount me and Sweetleaf. Heronwing was a straight up horrible jerk, and the other two in that litter... I couldn't be around them for more than a minute before wanting to claw something._

These were things that only Grassfur could tell Sapere; only he had been by Cloudtuft for those thirteen moons of growing up and coming of age. Whatever Maplepool saw, it certainly wasn't everything to the white tom.

Sapere watched him almost expectantly, as if she sensed there was more to be said. "His behavior," she prompted, "is it consistent? Have there been exceptions?"

Grassfur blinked, considering.

There was _something—_

"Twolegplace," he nearly exclaimed, fur raising. "Cloudtuft was _mad._ I'd never seen him so out of control before. Maplepool got kidnapped and he kind of lost it."

That might have been an exaggeration; Grassfur's reminiscences of the Twolegplace that they had passed by were blurry, fuzzy messes.

"The place of Twolegs," Sapere echoed thoughtfully. "Could it be..."

He frowned at her, baffled. "Twolegplace. Where Twolegs live. It's got a lot of dogs and smells horrible." That was the gist of what he remembered.

"The city!" Her hazel eyes cleared, as if somehing had clicked into place. The old she-cat made an almost disdainful noise. "If it is the city you were in, then there is no doubt that Cloudtuft would have been— off. Humans poison the air and the city brings out the worst in us all."

Grassfur didn't know what humans were, but if the city was Twolegplace... well, that did make some sense.

"The rest of your group, how did they act?" Sapere asked.

He wasn't sure why that was relevant, but he answered anyway, realization dawning as he spoke. "Flamepaw ran off and then stayed hiding in a tree instead of fighting the dog with us." _I didn't have her pegged as the type to hide from battle, no matter how injured she was. Then again, I don't know her well._ "Stonefall _jumped_ from the tree, and he" —a flash of blood and a raging gray tabby in Grassfur's memory— "he nearly killed that dog after we already defeated it."

"Flamepaw, she is brave; Stonefall, he is gentle, or so I presume," meowed Sapere. Grassfur nodded; it certainly wasn't exact, but both those words seemed to be at least a facet of the respective cats' personalities.

"Maplepool yelled at me," Grassfur said, blinking rapidly. He'd almost forgotten; five days of her being her usual meek self had all but washed away the unpleasant recollection like sand in a river. He didn't want to linger on that, so he quickly added more words to move onward. "But— I didn't notice anything different about _me._ "

Sapere looked at him closely, a strange expression on her face. Moments passed, a hesitation, then: "That is because you are already at your worst, Grassfur."

A long, stretching silence, punctuated by birdsong and river-gushing. He was acutely aware that he was staring at her.

"That _hurt_ ," Grassfur said at last, feeling and perhaps sounding like a kit in his surprise. This wasn't the usual light insult from Sapere that rolled off his back like a raindrop; this made his chest twist in a way he'd never felt before and he _really didn't like it_. Hadn't she done worse before? Hadn't she called him dry and wilted, said he had a sour aura, even? But that had been teasing, with an undercurrent of humor, and this was _serious_ and stoic.

Her voice was odd, firm and unmovable but reluctant at the same time. "Words will do that."

Yes, that was what he'd been told, but he'd never really believed it. Words were just _words_ , and if they bothered you, you were just _sensitive_. But now he was on the receiving end and he was _not_ sensitive and yet... it... it stung.

"Words, they should be watched. They have more power than you know," he thought he might have heard Sapere say past the choking cloud of confusion that surrounded him.

Grassfur shook his head, because everything he lived his life by was hanging precariously in the balance and he wouldn't let it fall, he refused to let it fall. He couldn't be wrong. Words didn't hurt, shouldn't hurt, but Sapere just said one sentence and suddenly he was injured and smarting as if she'd dealt a physical blow. _Already at your worst._

And it hurt that in the eyes of this cat in particular, this cat he had no reason to respect but did, he was the lowest of the low, so far that Twolegplace couldn't bring him down anymore.

He turned and fled, his paws carrying him back to the cave despite him wanting to be anywhere but here in this forest.

Maplepool was sitting languidly by one of the walls; she was unable to hide the flash of surprise crossing her face when she saw him, but nevertheless turned her head away from him.

He shouldn't care, and yet...

It felt like there were stones in his stomach, heavy and awful and cold. The russet tom tried to summon even a spark of hatred, something to distract him from these feelings he didn't know and didn't want, but found nothing.

 _Words, they should be watched._

The words he'd used with Maplepool— venom, all of it, poisonous words soaked in vile loathing.

Grassfur folded his limbs, almost collapsing in a pile, and tucked his muzzle under his paws. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if not seeing the cave would make it go away, so he could go back to being five-minutes-ago-Grassfur, who believed so strongly in being perfectly point-blank honest without care for what the other cat was thinking. Now he was the other cat, and he didn't like it one bit.

Mostly, he didn't like the idea that his own talking could have this effect on other cats.

 _I'm not wrong. Sapere is just a crazy elderly stranger._

 _Surely nothing I ever said could hurt someone else so much._ Maplepool certainly never showed even a glimmer of being injured whenever he was feeling particularly irritated. He ignored old memories of RiverClan, of fights with Heronwing and sniping at Thymesong for never talking or trying to knock Meadowpelt's ego down a few notches.

He ignored everything. Tonight, Sapere would visit Cloudtuft, and they'd find each other again.

 _Then I can leave behind all of this star-cursed doubt in this stupid forest and the stupid river and fog and herb garden and whatever else._

 _I'll never look back._


	26. Four Dreams

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

"Aaaand I win," Cloudtuft said, relishing the _clink_ of bone as he moved his piece past Flamepaw's into the winning square.

The defeated blue-gray apprentice sat back on her haunches with an exaggerated sigh. "I've been vanquished! Conquered! Alas, the great Flamepaw has fallen..."

"...Again," the white tom added with the most charming grin he could manage. Flamepaw swatted at his nose and he shifted backwards, flicking his tail and suppressing a tired yawn.

"Honestly," Flamepaw said, "I lose literally _every time_ I play Stonefall, and now you, too? What is this, the fifth time in a row?"

"Fourth," Cloudtuft corrected. "And, believe me, I lose every game to Stonefall too." He glanced at the currently sleeping tabby tom, wondering if he should check outside to see if it was time to switch watches yet. The RiverClanner puzzled over trying to figure out what time it was using the amount of moonlight from the fox burrow's exit while listening with one ear to Flamepaw's meows.

"To be fair, Stonefall _is_ the Bored Game master," the she-cat was saying. "He's got, what, twelve moons of experience over us? But great _stars_ , I'd hope to win just _one_ game, or even move the clever!"

Flamepaw had a very slight obsession with that particular piece in the game, as Cloudtuft had discovered over many plays. When she —and technically Stonefall— had shown him the Bored Game, he had not been expecting to play it quite so much. The weather, however, had other plans.

About halfway through the fourth night of watch, the snow had started up again; not the light, playful snow from a few days prior, but a heavy-falling, threatening snow. They had been forced to hole up inside the fox burrow for the entire following day as well as tonight. Cloudtuft didn't think Stonefall and Flamepaw would be able to handle the cold even together, and the precipitation was unpredictable. It was safer to stay underground until the whole threat had passed.

And, since doing nothing for a full day and night would drive them all insane, they played the Bored Game.

It was an interesting thing to get from the Moon Tunnels. Cloudtuft couldn't help but wonder what the cat who received that gift had felt— disappointed, perhaps? After all, it was a _game,_ and didn't seem useful at first glance compared to other tangible gifts.

Flamepaw was saying something about enjoying the pieces they'd fashioned from prey bones as opposed to the original ragtag objects when she interrupted herself with a wide yawn.

"Gosh, all this switching is messing with me," she meowed with a hint of exhaustion muddling her words. "I can't sleep during the day, and we've barely got a third of the night to rest."

Cloudtuft was inclined to agree; he felt the tug of sleep pulling at his own body, though he tried to ignore it. "I feel you." He considered capitalizing on the opportunity to convince her to leave before the end of the week he'd allowed them, to go back to the Clans and say "we failed" just so that they could all survive, but he found that he was unable to make much sense of his logic in his torpid state. He wouldn't be able to convince a one-moon-old kit in this state.

 _Why can't either of them see that Grassfur and Maplepool are dead? That we have no chance making it to the Moon Tunnels as a group of three?_ The second question didn't even seem to exist for Flamepaw; as far as she was concerned, the missing part of their group was very much alive.

He'd deal with this later, when he was better rested. It would have to be soon; their cached prey was running out. Less movement meant they needed to eat less, but food didn't last forever.

The white tom was this time unable to stifle a yawn as Flamepaw reset the game grid. "You know," he commented, "I don't think there's much to watch out for in this weather." Putting on a conspirational tone, he meowed, "Think Stonefall would kill us if he woke up and found us both sleeping?"

The apprentice twitched her whiskers. "Stonefall? Kill us?" As she prepared to elaborate, Cloudtuft's ears pricked, catching the sound of quiet shifting. He turned around.

Stonefall was awake, head up but still lying down. "I'uldn't kill you," he mumbled, sounding groggy.

Flamepaw looked delighted, perking up from the tired slump that had slowly started creeping over her shoulders. "Hey, Stonefall! We were just talking about you!"

"Figured 's'much," the tabby tom murmured, before dropping his head back down with a quiet sigh and apparently falling back asleep.

 _Well._ If Stonefall was that light of a sleeper, they'd all be awake if any threat happened to make it into the fox den. "That solves that," Cloudtuft said out loud, grinning at Flamepaw. "What do you say we follow Stonefall's pawsteps and sleep?"

"Sounds good," the little blue-gray cat agreed, her sudden excitement seeping away now that its cause had disappeared. "Hopefully nothing _else_ kills us," she said, glaring with mocking suspicion outside.

Cloudtuft laughed. He was feeling almost woozy now, and the soft scent of something herby was starting to wind around him. For some reason, that didn't seem any cause for concern; his mind was fixated on _sleep, go to sleep_ and his body was glad to oblige. The white tom padded over to Stonefall and settled down, close enough to share his warmth but not touching the other tom. Flamepaw bounded over and curled up next to them.

The atmosphere was comfortable, homely, even though this wasn't RiverClan and Cloudtuft had only known these cats for less than a quarter moon. He was perfectly happy to close his eyes and relax, knowing that the others were close by.

 _I guess hanging around with anyone will get you at ease around them,_ he thought drowsily. _This is... nice. Even Stonefall's started talking more, hasn't he?_

Then his mind trailed off, and he sank easily into a dark, welcoming slumber.

...

Cloudtuft was in a forest.

It was a strange one, cozy and quaint, full of needle-leaved evergreens spread sparsely across cheerfully light soil. ShadowClan trees, but not so densely packed; ThunderClan soil, but not so dark or rich; WindClan breeze, but not so dry; he turned and then there was a river, like that of his own Clan but wider, shallower, not to mention brighter, sparkling with the reflection of the sun.

And in the forest it was serene, peaceful, a blue-sky greenleaf day.

Cloudtuft didn't question it; not why he was here, nor how he came to be there. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, as if he had always been in this forest, and he did not think of other cats or the Moon Tunnels or the blizzard. The white tom opened his jaws to taste the air and scented sharp pine sap, musty leaf litter, and what seemed like a trace of salmon. The smell brought back memories of RiverClan's leaf-fall celebration, memories of joy and everything-is-wonderful, and it drew him closer, a burning temptation and desire. That plus the ever-present pit on hunger in his stomach made the idea of food, especially his favorite, impossible to give up.

He closed his eyes briefly and let it guide his paws. Soon, he found himself in front of a huge boulder, with a gaping maw that suggested there was a cave within. Cloudtuft hesitated at the edge, torn between his desire to find the salmon and his wariness of the dark unknown.

He did not have to dither for very long.

A cat was making her way out from the boulder, old and tattered but still poised in her age. She was so fragile, so pale, it was as if the breeze might blow her away— or as if she was ethereal, and not really here at all. Cloudtuft blinked, staring at the elderly she-cat, who met his gaze evenly with hazel eyes.

"Who are you?" Cloudtuft asked.

"I am the keeper of magic and messenger of dreams. My name, it is irrelevant."

The word _dreams_ seemed to hit Cloudtuft with a physical strength, sending him reeling although his feet stayed right where they were. This was a dream, he realized, and suddenly remembered everything— where he was supposed to be, in a fox den in a strange and snowy land.

"Why am I here?" _Ask the most sensible questions first._ He supposed he could play along with the dream; once he awakened, he'd still feel rested, anyway. The tom was rather curious to see where this would go.

"You are here because I have called you to me," said the she-cat. "The messenger of dreams, she has a message for you— I have a message for you."

He stopped his whiskers from twitching, then felt stupid for doing it, since did it really matter what he did? This was a dream, and a funny one at that. "All right, go on."

"The message, it is from the cats Grassfur and Maplepool. Your brother and your friend."

Cloudtuft's heart nearabout stopped for a split second before he started laughing inwardly. A wishful dream, really? That was what his subconscious decided to come up with while he was sleeping?

 _And why in the world would it —would I— call Maplepool a friend? That's painfully optimistic. We knew each other for what, a day?_ He might feel desperate sometimes, but not _that_ desperate.

"Listen to me," the old cat said sharply, like she knew exactly what Cloudtuft thought of this whole dream business, and she was having none of it. "They are alive."

"I wish," he said with fake cheerfulness. It was easy, doing that devil-may-care kind of voice; he'd come to that conclusion a long time ago. He'd accepted it already.

"They are alive, and—" She waved her tail in a sweeping gesture towards the forest. "Here. Where are you?"

"...Here. Right now, that is, in my dream." He looked at her strangely.

The orange-and-white cat made an impatient noise and suddenly the forest _flickered,_ disappeared and was replaced with a snowy, barren land. She narrowed her hazel eyes and for a moment and it seemed like her gaze was tufning him transparent and she was seeing right through him— or right into him.

"So you are there. Tomorrow morning, head northeast until you meet the curve of a river. Follow the river to find them."

"Nice story," Cloudtuft said dismissively. "Can I wake up now?"

She stepped closer, muzzle stretched so closely that he could feel her breath. "Are you so arrogant that you believe your mind has the power to create me from nothing?"

He took a step back, alarmed.

"Do not be foolish. When I leave, you will awaken. I will visit Flamepaw and Stonefall in turn, and deliver the same message. Northwest to the river— there it is you will find your lost cats."

The things the elder was saying... they made sense, in some way. Cloudtuft felt torn between _she's right, she's real, this is some insane thing with a logical explanation that I cam't come up with_ and _clearly, the only logical explanation is this is just a meaningless dream._

"I don't believe you," he ended up saying. "They can't be alive."

Her response was serene but had an assertiveness that made him listen to every word. "You think yourself superior, invincible to the burden of pain that comes with what we call _hope_ , but your refusal to see only blinds you."

"I see everything there is in front of me," Cloudtuft said. "I can only trust my eyes, and they saw Grassfur and Maplepool get tossed away into a blizzard by wind."

"So will you believe in this, once your eyes and ears show that you are not the only one receiving this dream tonight?"

"Sure, why not."

"Stay true to your word, Cloudtuft," the she-cat warned. A pause, then— "Is there anything you wish to say to them?"

 _I already decided to humor myself. Might as well go the whole way._ There were, in fact, many things he'd like to say to them, Grassfur especially, things he'd never get to say. "I want to tell Grassfur I'm sorry," he said, a little impulsively. "That he's my brother and he was more important than... what we were arguing about."

He closed his muzzle and closed up like a mussel, refusing to elaborate, refusing to be vulnerable. He didn't have time for that. His brother was dead, and moping over it would not help matters.

The old cat blinked slowly, dipped her head, and faded away, growing paler and translucent until she wasn't there at all.

Then the ground dropped below his paws, and Cloudtuft awakened to silence.

...

Flamepaw was gazing around at a forest.

Her mouth was slightly open, both in awe and to catch the many warm scents that engulfed her. It was _beautiful_ and comforting, the familiar sharp bite of pine sap mixed with the slightest hint of forest-floor dampness, plus an enticing dash of prey, real live prey creatures that must be scuttling about. A crisp, fresh odor of plants and mud and reeds came from the river— the _river!_ The water sparkled and burbled and splashed, and it seemed so completely just... nice. Welcoming.

She bounded over to the river, enjoying the sun's warmth on her back as she left the shade of the trees, and dipped her muzzle to touch the cool water. It licked cheerfully at her nose as she drank and the drink seemed to strengthen her, filling her from her toes to her ears with energy.

 _This river has fish, too! I want to see what fish tastes like. I wonder if I could catch one._

 _Actually, it looks shallow enough to swim in._ She was incredibly tempted to dive in there, knowing that she could just stand up if anything went awry.

 _Or I could explore the forest!_ Distracted by a breeze, Flamepaw turned her head back towards the forest. All of these different opportunities! This was exactly what she wanted...

 _Oh, hey, what's that?_ The apprentice blinked as she saw something from the edge of her vision and spun around. It was a huge rock, with a wide hole carved into it, so dark that she couldn't see inside.

Flamepaw stepped closer, squinting at it curiously.

Was that movement?

Yes, it was, and it was growing clearer by the moment. Before she knew it, Flamepaw was facing a white she-cat with orange tabby patches.

"Oh! Is that your den?" She bounced backwards a few steps. "I don't mean any harm, I promise!" The blue-gray apprentice beamed earnestly at the very old cat, who twitched one ear.

"Flamepaw. I'm glad you made it here."

"Did I make it?" Flamepaw frowned, thinking. She did not recall exactly what had brought her to this place, but she didn't worry too much about that. It was wonderful— did it matter how she got here if she _was_ here? "Wait, hold up, how do you know my name?" She tilted her head at the she-cat. "Actually, more important, what's your name? And nice to meet you! I kind of forgot all of my manners since I wasn't expecting you!"

The cat grinned at her, a striking change from her previously serious face, but sincere and bright. "Not to worry." There was a hint of amusement in her voice. "There are cats with much worse manners. Now, your questions, they will be answered if you listen."

"I'm listening!" The apprentice settled down on the ground, matching the mysterious strangee's grin. She liked this cat.

"My name, it is of no importance," the cat began. "I am the keeper of magic and messenger of dreams, and I have called you to me. This dream, it is a passageway for communication, when the distance in the physical realm proves too great an obstacle. I come with a message."

Flamepaw's paws tingled, her thoughts racing at top speed. _A message? From who, and why? Keeper of magic? Messenger of dreams? This is all super cool and I only understand about half of it!_ She could fill in the blanks, if she did't think too hard about it.

"Grassfur and Maplepool, they are alive and here," said the orange-and-white cat, gesturing with a paw towards the cave. "You all must travel northeast, until you meet the bend of a river. Follow the river to find them."

"They're alive!" Flamepaw yelped, leaping back to her paws. "I knew it! Cloudtuft kept trying to hint that maybe they hadn't shown up because they couldn't show up, and I was like 'well if they can't make it why can't _we_ come to _them_ ,' and he was acting super sketchy about it until Stonefall told me that Cloudtuft thought they were dead." She vividly remembered this slightly one-sided conversation, in which she'd mentioned how incredibly weird the white tom had been acting, and Stonefall had blurted out the words (looking quite regretful afterwards).

Evidently, from the lack of confusion on her face, the other cat knew what Flamepaw was talking about— or, at least, enough to make sense of it. She knew Grassfur and Maplepool, after all; they'd probably tell her about everything. That must be why the cat knew her name, and if she knew one name, she should know them all.

"I have visited Cloudtuft and delivered this same message," the tabby said, confirming Flamepaw's hypothesis. _He must be so happy to finally be sure that they're alive!_ "He is awake and waiting, I presume. After you, Stonefall will be called."

"Thank you, thank you _so_ much," Flamepaw meowed fervently, reaching out to gently nudge the old cat with her muzzle in a gesture of affection. "Northeast. River. Got it. I'll... see you soon? 'Cause you're with Maplepool and Grassfur?"

The cat dipped her head and began to fade away.

"Wait," said the apprentice. The fading seemed to halt, the cat hovering in a state of translucence where Flamepaw could see the ground behind her. "I... _I_ think your name is important."

For a moment, the she-cat looked almost surprised, the expression flitting across her face before disappearing. "Sapere," she said with a small smile. "My name, it is Sapere."

"Sapere," Flamepaw echoed. "Oh, that's a lovely name." It rolled off her tongue like mist, light and cool.

Sapere reached out to rest her muzzle on the blue-gray apprentice's head. The touch was so light she could hardly feel it. "The spirit, it is strong in you. Cherish it always, Flamepaw, and nuture it."

"I will," she promised. "And thank you again, Sapere." Flamepaw suspected she could continue to say _thank you_ many times more, but Sapere was fading away again, blinking once in a friendly farewell. She was gone—

—then the forest fell away, and Flamepaw blinked open her eyes.

...

Stonefall was tracking down a scent through a forest.

The soil beneath his paws was peaty and packed, making his paws stick a little every time he placed them down, but he was far away enough from the source of the smell that he wouldn't scare it away. He was wholly focused on _squirrel, there's a squirrel!_ and didn't notice much of his surroundings until the scent trail brought him to the mouth of a cave.

The gray tabby backed up several cautious steps and saw that it was a very big stone that opened up into a cave. His eyes widened. _Do I really want to go in there?_

But there was a squirrel! He was all right at catching those— better than he was at most things, really. A squirrel had been his first catch, although by that time Dawnpaw had caught many squirrels.

 _Look, if I go in there and catch that squirrel, we'll have fresh food for the first time in days. Flamepaw and Cloudtuft would be impressed, wouldn't they? I've got to get it._

 _Not just to impress Fl— them. To get any food, in general._ But he couldn't deny that the imaginary scenario panning out in front of him was pretty great: Stonefall the hunter, returning triumphant with a huge squirrel in his jaws, enough for them all to have a full meal.

Before Stonefall could come to a decision, he saw something coming out from the cave— not a squirrel, a cat. His nose twitched. Why hadn't he smelled her?

"Stonefall," the cat said when he didn't speak, busy trying to figure everything out. When she came into the light, the she-cat looked very old and fragile, almost birdlike. He tried not to stare, glancing briefly over her white and orange pelt before ducking his head. His thoughts raced like rabbits across open land. _How does she know my name? What else does she know about me? Are they good things or bad things? Does she think I'm weird for dilly-dallying around a cave— her cave? Wait, am I supposed to say something?_

"The squirrel, it worked to call you here. I'm glad."

He should intercept, say something friendly like _oh, squirrel is my favorite food, so yeah,_ because he felt a burst of respect for this cat and he wanted her to like him. But he felt unsure and clumsy and he had no idea _when_ to say the thing, so he just nodded rather awkwardly instead.

"It seems Maplepool guessed right on your favorite food."

 _Maplepool!_ What did she mean, Maplepool? Was Maplepool here? He looked around, then realized he probably looked very silly, and froze his head in place. "I, uh, Maple— Maplepool?" he managed, wincing inwardly at how his voice croaked from lack of use at the start and came up to a higher pitch at the end.

"That may have been premature... Let us start from the beginning," the old she-cat said idly. Stonefall realized too late that he could have said something in response to "favorite food" like _it is my favorite, since it was my first catch_. Then he thought maybe he was lucky he didn't, since that might have been overshading. Then he realized that the cat was talking and hurriedly tuned in.

"—am the keeper of magic and messenger of dreams. I come with a message from Grassfur and Maplepool— who are, yes, alive."

 _So they are alive!_ Stonefall was surpised by how joyful he felt at that. He was also surprised that the first thing to pop into his head was how happy Flamepaw would be to hear. _If I tell her— which I should, I definitely should, so we can reunite, but from what I can tell, with the "messenger of dreams" thing, this is a dream, so maybe she and Cloudtuft would think I'm insane. Why am I getting this message? I'm completely the wring cat for this. I'll fail them, I'll fail this cat, I'll fail Grassfur and Maplepool._

"They are here, in this forest," the she-cat continued. "From where you are, head northeast until you meet the bend of a river. Follow the river to reach this place." She nodded to something behind him, and Stonefall twisted around to see a wide, bubbling river. He turned back to face the other cat, shifting his paws.

"Cloudtuft and Flamepaw have already been sent this message," the cat informed him.

 _Oh, thank StarClan,_ Stonefall thought, pushing aside a new tremor of _does it mean anything that I'm the last cat to get the message because that has negative connotations?_

He was terribly curious about this she-cat— who she was, how she did this, everything. But if she was here, and she'd met Maplepool and Grassfur, then she'd be there once he arrived with Flamepaw and Cloudtuft. _Two braver cats who can actually ask questions._

The gray tabby nodded once again, with the same level of awkwardness as the first, only with an additional mumbled "okay"that he suspected was borderline inaudible. Was that all, then? He wanted to say something and had no idea what.

The elderly cat's hazel eyes softened. "When you awaken, they will be waiting," she said. "Cloudtuft is skeptical, at best— speak to him. Make him see."

He didn't feel comfortable with that sort of responsibility. There was Flamepaw; Flamepaw could do it.

"A quiet cat, he will be listened to most of all others when he speaks."

Stonefall got the slightest sense of déjà vu. Darkstar had said that once, the comforting words still easy for him to remember: _Cat of few words? That's fine. It'll only make others listen more carefully..._

 _But can I really?_

The past few days had made him more comfortable around the other two cats, yes, but... convincing someone to do something without making a mess of it all... could he? Did he even have a hope of a sliver of a chance? But her explanation made sense. Stonefall suspected Cloudtuft rarely truly listened to the things Flamepaw said; the white tom had been obviously dead set on the opinion that Grassfur and Maplepool were gone forever, even if he didn't say it out loud. If he was still skeptical after even this dream, what could Stonefall do about it?

But he felt his head being drawn upwards to meet the mysterious she-cat's hazel eyes, and he realized exactly what he wanted to say, even if he thought it wasn't possible. He wouldn't be Cloudtuft. He'd hang onto that little spark of hope.

"I'll try," he said, voice cringing away inside his throat.

She smiled at him. "Tell me you will." When he considered protesting, as if she saw his intentions on hos face, she shook her head and repeated herself more forcefully. " _You will._ "

And the convinction in her voice made him say "I will" back, a little stronger.

The cat dipped her head to him and began to fade away. Stonefall blinked, alarmed, as she vanished.

Then the soil beneath him vanished as well, and he woke up two waiting pairs of eyes.

...

Grassfur was trapped in the same torment he always was.

He was too tired; the fight had been all but sucked out of him, and when he'd found himself in the horribly familiar moorland, all its heat and blinding sunshine and scraping blades of grass, he simply collapsed. Though his paws were forcefully rooted in place, his legs bent, and his head hit the dry soil with a _thump_. He closed his eyes.

The she-cat would come soon. Then the coyote. Then death.

Briefly he wondered why it hurt him so horribly every time, seeing or hearing or feeling this unknown cat die when he was helpless to stop it. She was nothing to him, she meant _nothing_ to him, and yet... it was agony, absolute agony, and half the time he felt tears forming in his eyes.

Which probably meant that she was something to him, come to think of it.

Ah, there it was; pawsteps. But wait, why were they so slow? Why were they growing louder and sounding like they came from behind him? The russet tom could not or perhaps didn't want to move, and he let the mystery go unsolved.

Then there was the familiar light sound of the she-cat's running, frenzied, so fast that each paw on the ground made only a small noise, and all the noises blended together to sound like a flurry of soft skids, a frightened fluttering of steps and brushing aginst moor-grass.

But not fast enough. Never fast enough.

He heard the usual hard thumps as the coyote reached its prey, the resulting snap of bone, the fur-raising howl-bark. The breeze, at his back— or was that breathing?

"Grassfur."

His name, a voice. He did not rise or turn.

"I'm sorry."

 _It's not your fault_ , he considered saying. Didn't he hate when cats apologized for things they didn't cause? But he wasn't angry. Almost as if there was something to the apology, something real. "It's not your fault." He said the words out loud, his throat strianing against the invisible force that tried to hold it closed.

He heard light footsteps and finally opened his eyes and there was a cat in front of him, old and tired and sad, white-pelted but splashed with orange like someone had taken that color from the moor and poured it over her.

"Do you know who I am?" asked the cat, and slowly he shook his head no.

She was silent, looking pensive, as if she was having many thoughts just then. Then she told him her name and it stirred something in the depths of his mind that he could not quite place his paw on. "Should I know... who you are?" His voice was slow, raspy.

"That question, it is complicated. Any other cat would— but this is not something unique. A disconnect between the cat of dreams and its living counterpart. And I am helpless... I'm sorry," she said again, but it didn't sound like she was sorry for being helpless, but something else. Slowly, her orange-and-white figure began to fade, shimmering in the sunlight like she was an illusion.

"Stop," he said, a question forcing itself through his throat even when he didn't understand it, didn't know why he was asking it. There was a plaintive tone to his meow. "Do you hate me?"

He didn't know this cat and he didn't know how a stranger could hate him and he didn't know why it mattered, but for that one moment it was the only thing that mattered. His stomach burned and twisted, desiring the answer.

"Oh, Grassfur. Is that why you—? No. I don't hate you."

"You said I was... the worst." Had she? When was this? He didn't remember it, but there were the words. They couldn't have come from no where.

"That you may be at your worst," she corrected gently. "But though you are so, it doesn't make you a bad cat, or one not worth liking. It means I know you can be better. That there is better in you, if you will find it, if you want to find it. Do you understand?"

Her voice was calm and the calm bled over into him, and he felt himself at a sort of peace even though he was in the moorland of his nightmares. There was something warm and bright flooding through him and he sensed that he was relieved this cat didn't hate him, for some explicible reason. He exhaled softly.

 _My whole life, I didn't care._

 _I didn't care what cats thought of me, because I thought that being myself was the most important. That I couldn't go wrong because I was following my heart and that other opinions weren't necessarily right, that those other opinions just didn't understand me._

 _But if there's a version of myself that's better than I am now—_

 _Is it really better, or is it just what one cat thinks is better?_

 _But if this cat understands me because she doesn't hate who I am, and yet she says—_

 _If I live my life based on other cats want, what sort of a life would that be?_

 _But if this is what_ I _want as well—_

He stopped short and chose to go where his heart told him one more time, a compromise between the Grassfur who thought it could never be misguided or imperfect and this Grassfur who was starting to question everything.

 _Do you understand?_

"I can't explain it, but I think I do."


	27. Tear Out

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

"Okay, fine. So we all had the same dream last night. It could be... mass hallucination. Something we ate. Like Stonefall's herbs. Hallucinogenic herbs."

Despite the situation, Stonefall felt a flicker of indignance. _Hey, don't use my herbs as an excuse! I know sorrel. That was definitely sorrel._ But he said nothing because of the slightest breeze of _what if herbs are different in this area and it actually was some different not-sorrel hallucinogenic herb and I've poisoned us all_ that brushed against his confidence in his medicinal knowledge. Regardless, Flamepaw already had a rapid-fire response, laced with aggravation:

"Yeah, sure. Mass hallucination where we all woke up in... proffered chronological order. And we ate those herbs _days_ ago— besides, why would Stonefall pick hallucinogenic herbs?"

It was the closest Stonefall had ever seen the blue-gray she-cat to anger, but he couldn't call this anger, nor could he call the exchange between her and Cloudtuft an argument. A heated discussion between opposing views, perhaps, that gained friction as patience wore thin and frayed at the edges. In the back of his mind (or maybe not as far back as he'd like to claim), he felt a tendril of appreciation for her faith in his herbs, the tiniest restoration of his confidence of the _someone trusts me_ variety.

"It's more reasonable than thinking Grassfur and Maplepool survived and found a magical cat who sends dreams!" Cloudtuft shot back.

 _And managed to work together_ , Stonefall thought dryly, but decided this was better left unspoken. Besides, he was on Flamepaw's end of the argument.

"Honestly, no, no it isn't." Flamepaw eyed the white tom.

 _If something seems ridiculous but any alternative is even more ridiculous_ , Stonefall mused, _then... hmmm._

Personally, he didn't find it improbable; if anything, it _had_ to be true. Mass hallucinations didn't work that way. There was no such thing as a perfect coincidence. They'd all woken up with a memory of the same elderly she-cat in the same forest and the same information: Grassfur and Maplepool were alive, together, reachable. Was it really so hard to believe in magic and dreams? Hadn't their own ancestors once spoken to medicine cats when the Clans needed to be warned of some imminent trouble and no young warriors would be going on the journey any time soon? A long, long time ago, plenty before the silence of six seasons, but it had existed, communication through dreams.

Cloudtuft's unyielding incredulity, his insistent skepticism, might have been enough to make Stonefall go _nope, I'm being stupid and kittish, obviously magic doesn't exist..._ but there was Flamepaw. Flamepaw, who stood by the other opinion without being swayed, who helped chase away his self-doubts and gave him the chance to choose what to believe, who made him wish he could be like her but on his own.

Beyond admiration, there was —if he was optimistic— a tentative current of friendship running between them, tentative like the conversations they had (slowly, slowly getting longer, just the slightest bit longer every time). At least, Stonefall hoped so. He'd gotten to know her better the past few days, seen her fiery spirit up closer than ever, and he was both a little afraid and a little captivated. A lot captivated. Those grins of hers, the bright ones, the silly ones, the sheepish ones, the _hey Stonefall!_ ones, they all struck him hard somewhere in his chest.

There were a lot of not-very-coherent thoughts jumbling around in his brain, but it all just really culminated in—

 _I'm so glad that you're here,_ the gray tabby thought, tilting his head at her.

He wished he could say it out loud without it being weird ( _you hardly know her past acquaintance-level, she hardly knows you, why are you like this_ his brain mentioned at top speed), or maybe that his thoughts could carry themselves to her so she'd know.

But even if dream communication was real, mind reading wasn't, and Flamepaw didn't notice his eyes tracing her thoughtful expression, lost in thought as she was. The side of her face that he could see was covered in the shadows of the tunnel.

Cloudtuft, too, seemed preoccupied with his own thinking, a slightly vacant expression in his sky-colored eyes. It didn't seem that he would be responding any time soon.

"What did you say to Sapere?" Flamepaw asked finally.

Stonefall's ears twitched at the foreign word— a name, he deduced quickly, the name of the she-cat who had visited them. He had a brief second to wonder if she'd told the other two her name and not him before Cloudtuft asked, "Sapere?"

"Her name."

"The she-cat in my dream didn't have a name."

"She just didn't _tell_ you her name, Cloudtuft, of course she has a name because she's a _real cat_. Quit trying to figure out how to use this information for your argument and answer the question!"

The white tom rolled his shoulders back in a shrug. "Pretty much the same stuff I told you. Like a 'nah I don't believe you' kind of thing. And, with the perspective that it was all a dream, possibly other things. That are meant to stay between me and me."

"Between you and Sapere," Flamepaw corrected, just a heartbeat before Stonefall muttered "and Sapere" quietly to himself. Their voices aligned for the brief two words. Stonefall shot a swift glance at the blue-gray she-cat — _that was cool, how we had the same thought, did you think that was cool_ — but if she noticed, she didn't acknowledge it. It was quiet in the fox's burrow and they were in close quarters; maybe she heard but didn't think much of it because she thought he was just echoing her. And then he suddenly had a very strong desire for her to know that it had in fact been his own thought, that they'd shared a thought, but _that_ conversation would certainly never happen.

Or maybe he was just terribly overthinking everything, and he was so quiet that she hadn't heard him. He wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

Cloudtuft heaved a sigh. "What's your point?"

"I'm just thinking, if I were her, and you were acting all Skeptic Cloudtuft on me, I wouldn't let you wake up before getting to you take me seriously. I'd make you agree to believe me. After you get proof, probably. After seeing that everything so far that she said has been true, probably, because _after we all woke up in order with the same dream how could you not?!_ "

A beat of silence.

If Stonefall had been paying attention, he would have noticed the uncomfortable shifting of Cloudtuft's paws, the disconcerted ( _guilty_ ) expression on the white tom's face. But the conversation had led the gray tabby into remembering a certain part of his own exchange with Sapere.

 _I'll try._ Because promising to _try_ to convince a stubborn cat was easy, wasn't it? No guarantees. Not that he'd done any trying yet, though.

 _Tell me you will,_ she'd insisted. _You_ will _._

 _I will._

He'd said it—now he had to do it. He pricked his ears a little higher, ready to hang on to every word of the discussion and find a place to join in.

"Where'd you learn that kind of shaky psychological logic?" Cloudtuft frowned, as if searching through his mind's archive of nouns for a moment.

"Darkstar. I'm right, aren't I?"

Stonefall felt a frown creeping onto his own features. _Shaky_... that described Cloudtuft's logic, not Flamepaw's. As far as he could tell, the RiverClan cat's argument consisted of "dreams and magic are not real," "there are other alternative explanations" —none of which were very plausible— and changing the subject. _Maybe it's time to do a bit of psychological puzzling myself._

The conversation continued, a background hum of "no you're _not right_ because live dream-visiting cats don't exist" and "clearly we have just seen evidence to the contrary," words tossed back and forth and back and forth as Stonefall tried to figure out how he was going to stay true to what he'd promised Sapere.

He hadn't had Cloudtuft pegged to be _that_ kind of cat, the cat who jumped around the discussion like a rabbit, who didn't respond to the other side's excellent points and kept repeating themselves.

Maybe Stonefall just didn't know the other tom well enough. This wasn't the first clash of opinions he'd gotten involved in —their first night on the journey came to mind, when Cloudtuft had been the mediator, his brother the difficult cat— but the ThunderClan cat hardly had a large range of data to look to.

And maybe he just didn't _want_ Cloudtuft to be that kind of cat. He didn't the same tom who'd spent several companionable days and nights with him to have such an awful flaw. Dawnheart had been like that a few times, when they were kits. It'd driven Stonekit a little bit mad.

The alternative: Cloudtuft's behavior was an exception rather than a normal.

But, in that case... why?

The answer came to him like a bolt of lightning striking the earth, making him wonder why he hadn't realized it right away. He'd _known_ it, just never pieced it together with this—Cloudtuft was trying to protect them.

Stonefall could tell from the first day after the blizzard, really ("We're not kits. Don't lie to us," he'd said, and he was quite tempted to repeat that now). Maybe it was because Cloudtuft was a moon older; maybe he was used to watching out for the impulsive, angry, spiky ball of fur that was his littermate; maybe it went with the RiverClan upbringing, or something. But—

A sudden lull in the meows of the others. A chance. He wasn't sure if he was right or not; he'd have to start slow, build some sentences that led in the right direction to make the other cat lay out his real reason for being stubborn.

"Cloudtuft," Stonefall said before he could stop himself, barreling on as if he could crush any regrets if he went for it fast enough, "even if it was a dream, which, I think it's real, anyway, if it wasn't—what's the harm in following Sapere's instructions anyway?"

Oh, great stars, he'd stumbled through that and both pairs of eyes were on him and he couldn't take it— but the expression on Cloudtuft's face was enough to make him feel a little better.

 _Trapped you_ , Stonefall thought with satisfaction, a feeling rather reminiscent of playing the Bored Game, of that moment just when he'd ensured his victory with a shrewd move.

"The harm?" Cloudtuft yelped. "Stonefall, _look outside!_ It's been snowing like crazy the past day—"

"It's not snowing anymore," Flamepaw chipped in brightly.

"—and it's a barren white wasteland in every direction, northeast included, for StarClan knows how far! We're already half-starved, weakened, we don't know what to expect, it would be best for us to just _go home_ to the Clans! _Especially_ because it was just a dream, and Maplepool and Grassfur are dead, so we'd be walking into a pointless death as well!"

Finally, reasoning that checked out save for the last sentence, relative to everything else Cloudtuft'd been saying. _I think I hit it right on the head,_ Stonefall thought, with slight delight overwritten by concern. _Is the "just a dream" a complete bluff, and he just thinks we can't survive the journey to Maplepool and Grassfur, or is he really skeptical?_

"But it's not just a dream," cried Flamepaw, voice changing from spirited to frustrated. "How can you keep saying that?"

"Because—"

"—you want to keep us safe," Stonefall finished for Cloudtuft, feeling a little bolder. Flamepaw looked briefly startled, before realization set in and her muzzle formed a determined, grim line.

Cloudtuft exhaled slowly. "Yeah. And so?"

Looking at Flamepaw's face, Stonefall knew full well what the _and so_ was, the reason why Cloudtuft hadn't vocalized his primary motive until now.

"Seriously? Seriously? Keep us safe?"

 _Oh._

Stonefall wondered if he had accidentally escalated this somewhat cordial conversation into a real argument.

Flamepaw was really, really like fire, so much like fire. Sparks and flames didn't want to be protected, they wanted to grow and burn and set the world alight of their own accord; you couldn't contain one between your front paws.

And the gray tom absolutely understood how she felt, the indignance of being treated like small incapable beings who needed someone to look out for them. _I wonder how Grassfur tolerated it. Tolerates it._ It was... insulting, being talked down to instead of just plain talked to. Stonefall wasn't as angry over it as Flamepaw maybe was, but he certainly didn't like it, either.

"We're not yours to protect," Flamepaw was saying.

"You're my team," Cloudtuft responded.

"Exactly. Your team, not your children! What you do is say 'hey, guys, I'm kinda worried about going on a journey of unknown length, let's discuss this and plan things out and problem-solve like mature cats'! You can't go 'IT'S JUST A DREAM, LET'S GO HOME, KIDS'—" She stopped and shook herself, breathing, calming.

Stonefall was inexplicably drawn toward her, wanting to be closer, wanting to make her smile because she was upset, feeling entirely helpless and unable to do a thing. He felt himself subconsciously reaching out and drew back. His mind briefly flashed through an odd fantasy, unbidden, in which she left to go find Grassfur and Maplepool on her own, angry, and Stonefall went with her and told her _I will stand by you,_ and she could see how important she was to him— and then he shoved the idea away, vaguely uncomfortable with the sudden rush of indescribable feelings at the thought. _Stop. Focus._

"I—" Cloudtuft cut himself off as well, and they stared at each other silently.

 _I caused this._ Stonefall had gotten Flamepaw mad at Cloudtuft because he'd been trying to help—he couldn't read Cloudtuft right now, didn't know what was going on in his brain— he'd failed— worse, he'd torn what was left of their group, put a rift between the other two and he was in the middle— conflict was overwhelming and exhausting, big or small and this was big, at least to him— he felt drained— he'd ruined everything—

 _No_ , said something inside him, _nothing is permanently ruined just like that. When you break something, you fix it._

He'd fix it. How could he fix it?

 _A quiet cat, he will be listened to most of all others when he speaks._

He wished they could start over, go back in time and wake up again, fresh from the dream but with everything out in the open like it was right now. A new place from which to begin, before it'd gotten to this.

 _Cat of few words? That's fine. It'll only make others listen more carefully._

"I think," he said softly, breathing voice into his thoughts, "maybe we should start over."

His words hung in the silent tunnel.

A few heartbeats stretched for what seemed like hours.

Things were shifting, changing, leaving a palpable sensation in the air that made Stonefall's fur prickle, but not in a bad way.

"Yeah. Yeah." Cloudtuft blinked slowly. "I— Flamepaw, I promised Sapere that I'd believe her if I saw that you and Stonefall had received the dream, too." His voice was measured calm, not cloyingly placating anymore —Stonefall hadn't noticed that aspect to the other cat's tone until it was gone— but more like the normal, earnest Cloudtuft that he'd slowly befriended over the past days.

Flamepaw opened her mouth, but the white tom went on. "And I don't exactly _not_ believe her. Still... I don't think it's safe for us to head out there, not knowing the details of how long it'll be or what the conditions will be like."

"I understand," the blue-gray she-cat responded, after that gentle pause that said, more than the spoken words, _I listened to what you had to say, I thought about it, I see your point of view._ "We're walking into a complete unknown. But, Cloudtuft, it's your brother and your friend. We can't— can't just forsake them like that. They're your team too."

 _My team has good cats_ was Stonefall's marginally related observation. _That de-escalated really well._ And yet it wasn't forced politeness or insincerity coupled with gritted teeth; it was just two cats willing to talk things out again, trying to get the other to see their side, but also opening their ears for once. _I'm lucky to be with you both._

Cloudtuft closed his sky-blue eyes for a long while. "And what if we're forsaking ourselves?"

There was a small part of Stonefall that would rather go on a death mission than return to the Clans, that old ever-present part of him that wanted to return from the Moon Tunnels a hero.

"Then we forsake ourselves." Flamepaw lifted her head. "Although, you know, we're a lot tougher than you give us credit for. Yourself included."

Stonefall warily prepared himself for Cloudtuft to revert to his protective nature, to say something inflammatory, but the white tom simply chuckled softly.

"We have survived a blizzard, haven't we? And Twolegplace."

"The kidnapping," Flamepaw said. "The dog." She smiled, a little abashedly.

Oh, that smile. Stonefall was glad that smile was back. "Your disappearance," he added, and received a good-natured headbutt in response, her forehead on his shoulder.

And suddenly they were all smiling at each other, heartfelt and open, exchanging looks and grins and crinkled-at-the-edges gazes. Stonefall felt lighter than air, filling up with warmth and half expecting to sprout wings and fly.

"I think the sun will be rising soon," Cloudtuft meowed, getting to his paws and stretching. "Should we— are we?"

"Let's go," Flamepaw meowed cheerfully, a slightly tempered enthusiasm— not bursting at the seams with energy, but still shining with the same intensity as always. "StarClan, I am _ready_ to leave this fox den." She bounced up, Stonefall following suit.

"You said it." Cloudtuft tilted his head toward the exit, barely visible in the low light, in a _go on_ gesture.

"You first," the apprentice responded. She paused, regarding the white RiverClanner for a moment. "Partner, not parent, from now on?"

"Partners." He grinned at her and ducked into the tunnel that led to freedom.

Stonefall was saved from a _do I go next because she wanted Cloudtuft to go first or do I go last because I want to keep her in my field of vision (as a partner, not a parent)_ debate by Flamepaw, who padded over to flank him and nudged his chin with her muzzle. The gray tabby hardly had time to process the friendly bump before she spoke.

"Thanks, Stonefall."

 _For what?_ Stonefall wondered, almost too afraid to ask. He turned his head to look at her and was surprised that he wasn't completely blinded by the smile she gave him. He tilted his ears and managed to get out the two words, though he messed up the order ("What for?") and sounded almost strangled.

"For being smart," she said spiritedly, "and calming us down."

 _Did I?_ They'd kind of calmed themselves down, really. He didn't think he'd done much except turn the discussion into an argument that needed calming down.

 _I don't— am I really smart? Enough to have done that? Did I keep my word to Sapere— did I really contribute at all?_

Flamepaw brushed past him and padded into the exit tunnel, flicking his ear with her tail as she went.

Stonefall followed and decided to believe her.


	28. So Friend

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Grassfur didn't really know much, except that things hadn't been okay, and now they were okay again. Okay again? He tried out the words in his head with a few different inflections. None of them sounded _right_ , but they all sounded like the truth. Which... made no sense, but it was how he felt, so he'd let himself go with it. He'd take the path of least resistance—the path that made all the sense in the world to every particle of him except his brain.

And that was why he was currently walking next to Sapere, as opposed to sticking his head into the darkest corner of her den and refusing to interact with any cat until it was time to head out of this forest permanently.

(He'd been seriously considering that yesterday.)

"He said he's sorry," Sapere informed Grassfur, "and that you're his brother."

The russet tom suspected that the look on his face, whatever it was resembling right now, was exactly what the old ragged cat was going for. If her very faint expression of amusement was anything to go off of, anyway.

"Did he mention anything about bees bumbling into his brain?" _Wow, Cloudtuft, I'm your brother. And all this time I thought I was your pet rock!_

"A direct quote, I will give it to you." The orange-and-white she-cat cleared her throat, speaking with slightly over-the-top solemnity. "'I want to tell Grassfur I'm sorry. That he's my brother, and he was more important than what we were arguing about.'"

It actually took Grassfur a few moments to remember what exactly he'd been arguing with his brother about. He'd seen some crazy things in the past several —five? six?— days since the blizzard, and the last time he'd actually seen Cloudtuft felt like a different lifetime. He had to pad backwards in time, all the way back to the normalcies of Clan life, then start at the very beginning of their journey to the Moon Tunnels.

Mad at Cloudtuft for siding with that aggravating apprentice— Cloudtuft mad at him for forcing everyone to keep travelling until dawn— Cloudtuft mad, this time not at him, because Maplepool was kidnapped— oh, yes, there it was, that was what had started it.

And then Grassfur had been bothered about why his brother was so _obsessed_ with the cursed mottled WindClanner, and he'd confronted him about it, aaaaaaand so it went.

But his brother apologized. _Cloudtuft_ plus _apology._ It wasn't a surprise, but Grassfur hadn't expected it, either, not when Cloudtuft had been angry enough to start ignoring him in the first place. _Guess I know Sapere is telling the truth. She wouldn't have known that I was fighting with him. I doubt that Maplepool even noticed him ignoring me, so her blabbermouth wouldn't have done anything, for once. So it's real, and Sapere really is a dream visitor._

 _Unless she just gambled on it being likely that I'd have an argument with my brother._

That thought brought on a flurry of whispered words in his head, taunting, repeating. _At your worst, Grassfur, at your worst. At your worst at your worst at your worst._

"Well, thanks, I guess," he meowed gruffly, having let the silence stretch on a little too long.

Things might be feeling "okay again," but the effect of Sapere's words from yesterday still lingered. Only... they made him feel bad in a different kind of way today. Yesterday, he'd felt what he'd only recently realized was an unfounded sting of betrayal: _I gave you a bit of my heart and you pummeled it into the ground_. "Okay again" meant he knew now that she hadn't done that, hadn't meant to do it one bit, even though he didn't know exactly how he knew. (He was going to put the actual meaning of "at your worst" to the side right now. It was the least of his problems.)

But "okay again" did not change that it had happened. First, that he'd given anything to her at all, that he was so quickly vulnerable to an almost total stranger. And, second, that the almost total stranger had so easily done damage without even trying.

With _words_.

That was _not fair._ Not allowed. Words shouldn't be able to do that.

So now, instead of betrayed, he was absolutely terrified. Half of him shouted _ABSOLUTELY NOT,_ but the other half was quite affirmative about how it felt. Absolutely terrified of Sapere, of the power she somehow held over him.

And all of him was very much resigned to his fate, because at some point he'd unconsciously opened a little part of him to her, and there was no going back from there. It was too late for his mind to snatch that piece of him back from his heart; it was already given away.

Somehow, he was still inexplicably _drawn_ to her, wanted to talk to her, the very same kind of inexplicable way he was repulsed by Maplepool and wanted nothing to do with _her_. Emotions on the opposite end of the spectrum; same part of his mind, or his heart, or whatever it might be, guiding him.

"Your friends were very happy to learn that you're alive," Sapere mentioned mildly.

Grassfur snorted audibly at that. "They're not my friends. Did whatever she tell you imply that we were all a big happy family?"

 _She_ was Maplepool, of course. He trusted Sapere to know that— and that scared him too, that he trusted her so easily.

"No. It did not." Sapere smiled and didn't elaborate.

He shook his head, almost exasperated. Almost _fondly_ exasperated? That was dangerous, too.

 _I'm letting you get through to me_ combined with _I like you_ could only lead to _I care about what you think of m_ e.

And that was bad, that was bad, that was several thousand levels of bad. That went against everything he'd ever believed in, and the worst part was a little tugging, nagging feeling in his chest that said is _it really so bad?_ and... _I want to be a better cat—_...?

 _I need Sweetleaf_ , he brooded suddenly. She'd keep him grounded in the midst of everything. She'd remind him that he was fine the way he was: Grasspaw, her favorite unconditionaly and always. She'd assure him that he wasn't obligated to change for anyone else; why would he be? And, if he mentioned that this arguably crazy old she-cat was the one making him question everything, he could imagine that she'd tell Sapere to kindly shove off. Grassfur indulged in playing out that scene in his head, expecting to feel better, but for some reason his first thought towards imaginary-Sweetleaf was _no, don't, Sapere is a good cat._

Like he said: dangerous.

"Can you talk to any cat through dreams?" Grassfur blurted, abrupt, an idea involving Sapere's dream-messaging and Sweetleaf roughly taking shape.

Sapere was thoughtfully silent for a long moment, as if considering. "A location, a name, a description— I would need them. Herbs, of course, and favorite food, preferably."

"What happens if you don't know the location?"

"Nothing. The cat, they may never be found."

Grassfur was pretty sure she meant _never be found for dream-messaging_ , but the words sent a prickle up his spine anyway. He shoved them away. _I_ will _find her if it's the last thing I do. If I haven't yet by the time we reach the Moon Tunnels, I will_ go back _and_ tear up the world _from corner to corner until I find Sweetleaf._

There was another stretch of quiet, interrupted periodically by a breeze shifting the pine trees, frequently by the chirping of birds, and constantly by the background burble of the river. Finally, Sapere said, "We should be heading back. I must discuss with you and Maplepool what happens next."

"So what was the point of this?" Grassfur gestured to the general direction of the forest with a paw as they turned around and started heading upstream, to Sapere's den.

"To pass on Cloudtuft's message to you."

"That's _all?_ "

"And to tell you how _very happy_ your not-friends were, knowing that you live."

" _That's_ all?" Grassfur ignored how she embellished "very happy" with relish.

Sapere only smiled, and they walked back in silence.

Grassfur was only just starting to feel completely at ease when they made it back to the den. He fully expected Maplepool to shatter that general state of being calm and unbothered, but she... almost didn't. _Almost_. It seemed that he would never not feel a prickle of irritation scraping up his spine whenever she appeared in his field of vision, but it seemed a little less intense than usual, as if she were just a fly buzzing on the edge of his consciousness instead of a constant awful aggravation.

Or maybe he was just getting acclimated to the level of annoyance that Maplepool brought him to, and all smaller annoyances were now negligible. He'd have to test that theory out the next time he saw a mosquito.

The mottled WindClan she-cat was waiting for them by the entrance to the cave, tail curled over her paws. She watched Grassfur and Sapere with amber eyes that couldn't hide the glimmer of interest flickering through them.

His first instinct: _Nosy vixen. What goes on between me and Sapere is private for me and Sapere. And can't you be productive? Did you just sit there stupidly the whole time we were talking?_

His second, or perhaps that niggling voice that liked to hang around in the back of his head: _I mean, Sapere did just say she was going to borrow me for a bit. Very cryptic. Any cat would be curious._

He didn't like the fact that the second instinct existed.

"Well!" said Sapere, halting and settling onto the ground near Maplepool. She did not go on. Grassfur stood for a minute, a tailength away from Maplepool, before lamely sitting down as well.

 _Well...?_ Grassfur grit his teeth and continued facing Sapere despite feeling Maplepool's eyes burning holes into his cheek. He was _not_ going to exchange glances with her and bond over their shared confusion of the ragged old cat's eccentricities; he hardly wanted to acknowledge that they shared anything at all.

"Well?" Maplepool echoed tentatively, timidly, making Grassfur flick the tip of his tail irritably.

"The dream messages, they have been sent," Sapere said. "If all is well, your _friends_ " —she eyed Grassfur; he glared at her without any real malice— "should be on their way here. Now is the time for you to repay your debts. Should you finish early, you may head off to meet them half-way."

Protesting wasn't even a idea in his mind at this point. It was the only right thing to do; Sapere had helped them, undeniably helped them, and they owed her a lot.

"What do you want us to do?" asked Maplepool.

"I was hoping to have some honey for my stocks, and my happiness," Sapere sighed, gazing out somewhere into the forest a little too dramatically. "Alas, the bees, they are sensitive, volatile..."

"Oh, don't worry," Maplepool meowed sweetly. The absolutely saccharine sugar that coated her voice made Grassfur turn to look at her, just in time to see her give him a mockingly sweet smile. "I'm very used to sensitive and volatile."

Sapere cackled. Before Grassfur fully registered what exactly Maplepool was getting at, the old she-cat caught her breath. "Ah, yes, Maplepool, of that I have no doubt. But teamwork, it is needed to manuever the bees, for your own safety. Teamwork, friendship, and camaderie."

"Why?" Grassfur asked, the word coming out like a demand to hide his curiosity.

"Those without, they will be attacked by the bees."

"I mean, we could—" Maplepool started softly, only for Sapere to continue on.

"So, instead," the orange-patched she-cat said, "I will give to you smaller, more numerous tasks. Maplepool, I would like for you to gather us food to last the next two days. Grassfur, to collect more herbs from the garden, the ones we gathered two days ago."

Grassfur recoiled inwardly.

He didn't _hate_ Sapere's herb garden. It was just... the garden had lingering unpleasant feelings from _last time._ Gathering chamomile, carefully carefully carefully... and then Maplepool breaking into his trance, ruining his concentration and tearing his motivation to pieces, trying to tiptoe around him while offering advice like he was a volatile beehive—

 _I'm very used to sensitive and volatile_. The words finally fully sunk in. _I am not_ , Grassfur wanted to say, but it was too late now. _You just act like I am! Didn't we have this conversation yesterday? I'm_ not _easily offended, you just keep treating me like it!_

He'd be thinking about _her,_ bothered about _her_ the whole time he was in the herb garden because of that, and great StarClan, he didn't want that. Not when he was relatively at peace with the world. He didn't want Maplepool to ruin it by forcing her way into his brain through a memory, but she would, if he went to the garden.

It got exhausting, sometimes, actively and constantly hating her. But how was he supposed to control how he felt?

"I feel like those tasks should be switched," Grassfur tried testily. Not that he was going to say _why._ He wasn't going to show how much Maplepool got to him.

"Do explain," Sapere encouraged, sounding entirely neutral.

The spiky-furred tom paused for a moment, thinking briefly. "She" —he jerked his head towards Maplepool— "can't hunt for all of us. I eat fish."

He did _not_ like the exchanging of glances between the two she-cats.

"That will not be a problem. In any case, I am sure you can manage eating land prey," Sapere said mildly.

It was either yield or be seen as a whiny kitten, Grassfur realized. (He also marginally realized that there'd been many past arguments, back with the Clans, where he'd _not_ yielded and, also, not given a single thought to his behavior. That was irksome, particularly _because_ it irked him.)

So he sighed. "All right. Whatever."

"Go on," Sapere said, "complete your tasks. Return by sunset at the latest."

Maplepool opened and closed her mouth like a very stupid fish, as if she wanted to say something. Grassfur gave a small snort of disgust and whisked past her, making sure to give a wide berth so that not a hair on his pelt came in contact with any of hers.

He marched into the forest, following the vague memory of the herb garden's location coupled with the slightest scent of herbs that the breeze seemed to carry to him.

It wasn't hard to find; the herb garden was all bright and vibrant shades of green, bordering on ridiculously so, flowers and berries and leaves scattered everywhere in soft messes and patches covering the ground like the pelt of nature. Grassfur's eyes roamed the clearing until he found the large cluster of little white flowers, each with a perfectly round sun in its center. He made his way carefully towards it, trying not to step on any plants on his way there. His pawpads felt silky earth; the herbs seemed to almost part and make a path for him as he walked.

His nose picked out the one flowery scent he remembered most clearly from the influx of herb-scents (bitter woody fruity sweet sharp musky pleasant unpleasant, so many he could hardly describe them as a whole, let alone individually). Chamomile— he could only describe it as friendly, absurd as that was.

Grassfur hooked one flower between two of his claws, staring at its open face for a moment.

He wanted to do what he'd done last time: pick them meticulously off their stems, one by one, to make a lovely little pile of flawless white flowers.

But the sun was past its peak, and he could almost _feel_ the time slipping away from his paws.

He really, really, really didn't want to use Maplepool's faster method.

 _Why?_ asked that annoying voice in his head.

 _Because her way is stupid._

 _It's fast, it gets things done_ , the voice said _. Try again._

 _Because I was happy and doing fine before she butted in, and she ruined everything._

 _You weren't doing fine. It was painfully slow,_ the voice pointed out.

 _Because it's_ Maplepool _and I hate her._

 _Of course— because you've too much pride for your own good._

 _Because_ "I just don't want to!" Grassfur snarled out loud, his words tearing a gash through the peaceful forest atmosphere. _So leave it be!_

He shut down his mind and stalked away from the chamomile towards the poppy flowers. He'd start with something else and go back to the chamomile later. _So I have time to do everything,_ he told himself. Not so that he could think about gathering those insipid flowers a different way.

Poppy wasn't difficult. He plucked off ripe seedpods and tossed them a ways from the herb garden, roughly in the direction of a patch of sunlight so thay they could dry. At least half of them hit his targeted area, but he could go neaten it up later. He wasn't about to make ten thousand trips in and out of the herb garden for a few poppy heads.

Soon enough, when early afternoon had drifted into mid-afternoon, he'd finished collecting both poppy and the leaves on the tall purplish plant that he'd recognized but forgotten the name of. Next was an herb he certainly _hadn't_ forgotten, bitter-grass, if only because of the vaguely suggestive look on Sapere's face when she'd named it. Grassfur started to head there—

"You know what I want?"

Five words. They caught him by surprise, and it was a miracle he didn't physically give a start; instead, his ears pricked reflexively, and he slowly turned around.

Before he saw her, he'd guessed it was Maplepool from her voice— only he'd kind of doubted it himself, for a moment, because it wasn't the meek and unassuming tenor he'd grown accustomed to hating, but a more... _normal_ voice. A little bold, even. Almost a mimicry of one of Sapere's tones, the mildly contemplative one.

And then he did see her, and she was looking at him with hard amber eyes, and it made him _very_ uncomfortable. He'd only seen that look twice before. He hated it every time, but a different kind of hate.

"What you want?" he echoed, too busy flipping through his memories to add any extra bite to his tone.

Yesterday morning, the river. He'd been ignoring her and then she'd _jumped in the river_ with that same look in her eyes, on her face, and it eventually ended up with:

 _"Cats expect you to be civil,"_ she'd said, or something along those lines.

 _"Well, I don't. So just stop,"_ he'd told her.

 _"Fine, if that's what you want."_

And that was it, that was the breaking point. He'd almost shouted at her, probably fully shouted, then. _"Enough about what I want! What do_ you _want?_ "

And now she was here, responding.

No. It couldn't be. All Grassfur's life, cats had disappointed him again and again by forgetting conversations not long after they'd happened. A cat who remembered —who _referenced—_ a past exchange could _not_ be the one cat he hated to the ends of the earth. That was some kind of next-level wrongness in his understanding of the world. _Sweetleaf_ , his _favorite_ cat, was the only one who was like him, who recalled things like that.

It was a coincidence, that was all.

"I want to repay Sapere," Maplepool said. "And so do you, I believe."

"I _am_ repaying Sapere," Grassfur responded dryly, gesturing to the herb piles nearby. This lapse in logic had stuck out to him first, and the potential resoonse of _how dare you have the arrogance to assume what_ I'm _thinking, you son't know a thing about me or my mind or my heart_ was only an afterthought.

"The bees," the ginger-and-fawn she-cat meowed. "Sapere wanted honey. I feel like that's the least we can do for her."

"Yeah? Well, she's not letting us do that, so I don't know why you're coming to me about it," Grassfur growled. He turned towards the bitter-grass again, ready to resume his herb gathering.

"She's not letting us bevause she doesn't think we can work as a team." Maplepool was being persistent. That was unfortunate. Would she lay off if he intimidated her enough? "We have to show her that we can, and then she'll let us gather honey."

"I don't want to have you, me, and teamwork in the same sentence," Grassfur said, sincerely and emphatically.

"But you care about Sapere. I know you do."

 _Now would be a good time to use that "how dare you assume—" card_ , Grassfur thought, but for some reason he didn't. It was true. He'd just spent a whole morning struggling and fighting and resigning himself to the fact that it was true. Was it that obvious?

"So do it for her," Maplepool said. "She's done so much for us."

Also true.

"You can't fool her," he retorted. "Teamwork, friendship, and camaraderie. Not happening. She knows I hate you and she's not stupid; she'll know we're faking it. Or that I'm faking it, anyway. You fake everything, so it's hard to tell the difference." If words really did hurt cats, would the claws of these ones be enough to drive her away?

A beat of silence; the quick flash of an uncomfortable expression across her face before it returned to determination (a look that he was quickly learning to _really_ _not enjoy_ ). "And you won't even _try_?"

"Why waste my time?" He stormed over to the bitter-grass and opened his jaws to reach for a cluster—

"Don't use your mouth!" She was next to him in an instant, shoving him aside with the full weight of her body. He felt sparks bursting across his skin under the fur that she'd touched, everywhere, flickering through his side. _WindClan cats are fast..._

The thought sent a crashing wave of darkness in his head, and he had to take in a deep gasp of air to clear it out.

"What?" he said, when he'd dealt with the darkness best as he could.

"Instructions. From Sapere. Don't get bitter-grass in your mouth."

He'd have asked her if she was fish-brained, but suddenly he remembered— Sapere _had_ said something along those lines. So, instead of saying anything, Grassfur scowled, shut his jaw, and brought an unsheathed paw towards the bitter-grass to tear it off with his claws instead.

Maplepool sat down a few tail-lengths away from him as he worked. "We have to work as a team anyway; we're going to the Moon Tunnels. Camaraderie comes in the job description for that."

"We will never be friends, if that's what you're going to say next, WindClanner." Bringing their different allegiances into play— the closest he could get to an insult without in being an insult, to appease that tiny whispering in his head that was saying _you_ do _want to help Sapere, this is how you do it, she deserves honey, you can take a day of working with Maplepool._

"A day of 'friendship' wouldn't cost you much. A few civil conversations within earshot. Maybe a stroll through the forest. Just that much for Sapere."

"I hate being fake," growled Grassfur, loudly, so that he could try and cover up his mind's chanting of _help Sapere, work with Maplepool, help Sapere_ that was increasing in volume by the second. "Possibly even more than I hate you."

" _I_ hate letting debts go unpaid, and I don't think you're the kind of cat who does," she returned. _For Sapere, for Sapere—_

"You don't know me." He finally used that card. "You don't know what kind of cat I am." But instead of hissing it or snarling it, like he'd thought he would up until the moment the words left his mouth, Grassfur made it sound like more of a statement.

Maplepool smiled without any real warmth. She wasn't trying to hide the coldness this time; she knew it was out in the open now, Grassfur supposed. Some insignificant part of him appreciated that. A concerningly notable part of him found it a little scary. "So let me get to know you, _friend_."

Long, long silence as they looked at each other, gold eyes on amber. Maybe if he burned her eyes with his own, she'd give up. His attempts were unsuccessful.

"Shouldn't you be hunting?" he said at last.

"Finished," she said dismissively.

Grassfur heaved a sigh that lasted longer than the previous silence. He suspected he wouldn't get to sigh for the next day or so; might as well get it all out now.

 _This is why it's dangerous, liking Sapere._

"Help me with the chamomile."


End file.
